Others like me
by Acesahn
Summary: The fans from Hotline Miami 2 origin story. How five disgruntled loners come to learn of each others shared secrets and fantasies, and how they became "The Fans" Thanks goes to togaco who drew the pic I used as the cover art, a very talented artist who captured the theme of Hotline Miami spectacularly. /
1. Chapter 1

"Order up... where are those fries?" Corey's obese manager said before looking down at her. Corey pulled her glove back to wipe the sweat from her brow, before fixing the hairnet holding back her shoulder length locks of raven colored hair. "Just put them in." Corey responded, distantly. She felt her managers disgusted look, even though she didn't turn to see it. "You gotta be fast to work in fast food, sweetie. It's not called slow food. You're never going to get anywhere in life, going slow." The manager said. Corey could feel the indignation in his voice as he passed down his judgment upon her.

She glanced at Alex, the pretty blonde pretending to work as she fidgeted in the kitchen. The manager rarely called Alex out on her work ethics, and she was far worse at her job then she was. She turned back to her manager and nodded in faux agreement, looking down at his shiny chin. "Sorry, I'm trying my best..." She said. The manager nodded, giving her his mock sympathy. She was just a lowly employee after all, its not like he should expect the levels of excellence he's put as the standard around here, right?

She turned to watch Alex out of the corner of her eyes, as she began chopping onions. In a way she was impressed at the way Alex could wrap the fat man around her little finger with a wink and a smile, well Corey hoped that was all she did. She didn't really want to think about any after work activities the manager might have had in mind for her and Alex, so she pushed such ideas out of her head.

She decided to help while she waited for the fries to be done, sliding next to Alex and her pile of onions. When she reached for the knife with a little heart sticker on it, Alex slammed her fingers across the handle before shooting her a dangerous look. "That one is mine." Alex said. Corey blinked and nodded, averting her eyes and reaching out for a different knife. Alex always had a scary streak in her, Corey knew that from the time they served together, in the war.

The war... little good that did anyone. If anything it only slowed things down a bit, so the Russians could conquer them from within, slowly, while the politicians turned their heads and opened their palms. Corey muttered something under her breath, she was starting to sound like Mark. The big guy was easy going enough, until you got him talking about the Russians or politics... then you couldn't shut him up.

Corey cleared her head in time to realize the fries should be done by now. She prepared the meal and bagged it quickly, or as quickly as she could, with her mind fantasizing about being elsewhere. She walked to the front counter and called out "Number seven?"

The frustrated yuppy who had been waiting, snatched the bag from her hand before throwing down a ten dollar bill. "Took you long enough." He muttered before walking off, leaving his change. Corey pocketed the remaining money, before continuing to work... or rather, she wiped the counter absent-mindedly, as she continued to day dream. Her hard work was interrupted when the yuppy returned.

The familiar look of annoyance on his face turned Corey's stomach. He threw the bag down on the counter and spoke in a calm voice. "I specifically asked... no onions." Corey winced, she had added it at the last minute while she was pretending she was anywhere then here. She snatched up the bag of food and nodded, keeping her eyes down on his tie. "Sorry, I'll take care of it right away..." The yuppy gave a condescending look. "I'm sure you will..."

Corey picked off the onions from the burger, then stared at the naked patty before her. She wadded the mucus in the back of her throat, and hovered above it for several moments. Eventually though, she swallowed her mouth full of spit, and placed the bun back on top of the patty, wrapping it back up and shoving it in the bag. She caught a glimpse of Alex out of the corner of her eyes, and realizing she was watching her the entire time. The look in Alex's eyes said it all. "Pathetic."

Corey shoved her hands in her pockets, as she followed Alex out the door of the restaurant. Another day, another dollar, as they say. She walked aimlessly in the general direction of the bus stop, her mind was occupied with the activities she had been planning for tonight. Her body tensed as a familiar, but unwelcome voice behind her woke her from her mindless walking. "Hey Corey, long time no see." She turned her head and confirmed, it was who she thought it was.

Tony... the large, belligerent, roid head, approached her from behind. His bare biceps bulged from his tight t-shirt, barely able to contain the vein filled muscles underneath. If it wasnt for the scar on his face, his predatory eyes, and his shaven head, Corey might have found the well sculpted man attractive... if she hadn't already gotten to know him that is.

Another "hero" of the war, now an unemployed thug, living off welfare and food stamps. He was related to a local crime family, before the Russian's moved in. The Italians and the Irish never stood a chance, as if the treaty signed by the American politicians was a green light for the Russian mob to take over all of organized crime in this country. Any relation to former criminal connection, were better left forgotten, or at the bottom of Tampa Bay, with the rest of the wise guys who didn't take the hint.

Tony never did anything to Corey personally, but his primitive demeanor had convinced her to keep a safe distance from him. A sickening smile spread across his lips, as his brownish orange eyes followed the curves of her body up and down. "Looking fucking good, better then you did in combat boots anyway. Waitressing suits you." He said with an antagonizing smirk on his face.

Oh yea, now she remembered. She kept her distance, because he was a degenerate with a constant "hard case" attitude, who didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. If Corey was more empathetic, she might sympathize with Tony. After all, someone who made a constant effort to keep people at arms length, was probably afraid of letting themselves get hurt. Of course, Corey wasn't very empathetic.

Tony frowned, and looked down the street, looking for the bus. He looked back to her, annoyed, and she realized she failed to answer him. She gave him a cool, indifferent look, before responding. "Thanks..." Tony jammed his thumbs, through his belt loops and narrowed his brow. He got the hint.

Corey was oddly pleased with herself, that she managed to upset the big bully with a single word and an icy stare. Perhaps this was how her hero felt, when staring down a man twice his size, letting him know **he** was the one who stood no chance. Tony scowled, and spit at her feat. _"Oops"_ She forgot to break eye contact, before fantasizing, and had been staring at him, dead eyed, for nearly a minute. Tony cast her a hostile look before going back on his way to nowhere. Corey smiled to herself as she watched him walk away. "I bet that's exactly what it felt like." She whispered under her breath.

Corey opened the door to her small, cluttered apartment. "Home sweet home." She muttered to herself, throwing her jacket over the back of her couch. She pulled off her damp, work shirt next, tossing it on the floor on her way to the bathroom. The lukewarm shower helped melt the hot, sticky day away. The thoughts of it being replaced by an equally soul rending one in a few hours, slowly began to creep into her mind.

She worried the package would be late, that tonight would be just as any other night, pizza delivery and a full night of bad TV. She turned the water off and dried herself, before heading to her bedroom to change. Corey slipped on a purple sports bra and orange jogging pants, before turning from her closet.

She smiled as she looked at wall in front of her. No longer a simple wall, Corey had transformed it into a work of art. News clippings, hand drawn pictures, photographs, all taped to the wall with pain staking care and detail. She walks over to her wall and stroked one of the articles. "Miami Maniac" the headline read. She dragged her fingers over another headline. "Miami Animal." "The Midnight Animal." It seemed like every news branch had a different name for the man. The man who became legend.

She ran her fingers affectionately over an obscure name a tabloid had given him. While not very creative, it was by far her favorite. "Jacket" She knew the reason behind the name was a silly one. It was his letterman jacket, that distinguished him from the other 50 Blessings killers. Well... as far as the tabloid writer was concerned. Jacket would prove to them all, that was more to him then just a mask or an article of clothing. Even after she had learned of his true identity, he would always be "Jacket" to her, as evident with any mention to his real name, had been met by angry scribbles from her censoring pen.

She looked to the news clipping of a headline article, a picture of Jacket himself being lead in handcuffs by police in his letterman Jacket, his hands taped up and covered in blood. It was not just any blood either, it was Russian blood. Corey looked up at the small blurry picture with reverence. Just to the right of it, a small clipping reads "Estimated 400 Russian mobsters slain."

Four hundred... to think, she had served in the same unit as the man... though she would be the first to admit they were never very close. She grimaced. Truth be told, she barely spoke more then few words to the man. The only thing she truly remembered saying to him was "No I don't have any smokes, sorry."

She blushed, as she glanced at the large photograph, taped to the wall amongst the rest of the exhibit. It was a picture of her and her and her unit from the war. She had taken some creative liberties with the photo, taping it so it was folded, so she and Jacket were standing side by side. "Sorry Mark..." In actuality it was Mark who was standing next to her in the photo, his big mitt of a hand clamped over her shoulder. She bit her bottom lip and imagined it was _him_ touching her, tightly holding her against his side. She smiled bitterly. "Keep dreaming Corey..." She doubted he'd find anything interesting about her. She was nothing special, at least not yet.

She studied the wall before her, trying to absorb whatever it was about the man that made him so special. Newspaper headlines showing the wild tenaciousness his attacks that were still evident even after the police had the bodies bagged and tagged. It showed that he was a man of primal passion.

She wondered how if it was possible she could have missed it during the war. How she couldnt see the burning animal, barely contained, behind his cool, relaxed gaze. Or maybe, she simply never looked. _"You can relate to that, can't you Corey?"_ She glanced at a courtroom artists, rendition of Jacket in the courtroom she had pinned up. He was holding some green sphere in his fingertips, as he looked straight ahead, his face calm, almost gentle. She wondered if it was similar to the distant, detached look that must have been on her own face, as she bled her life away, day by day, at that dead end job. She hoped so... That the unrelenting mediocrity had been brewing something inside of her for a awhile now. Something remarkable.

A knock on the door startled her, and she grabbed the baseball bat leaning in the corner of the her room just in case. She bolted to the front door and checked the peep hole. A delivery man, holding what looked to be... a brown cardboard box! She grinned. This was a far better sight then a group of gang bangers or junkies waiting outside her door.

She unlocked the door and threw it aside, quickly taking the box, then awkwardly holding it with one hand to sign for it with the other. Being nearly ambidextrous, she had only a little trouble signing her name neatly with her right hand. She closed and re locking the door before bringing the box to the table in front of the couch. She could barely contain herself as she tore the box open, sending its packaging every which way, before she held the rubber treasure in her hands.

She held her breath, as she raised the rubber mask from its sifting bed of Styrofoam peanuts. A rubber zebra mask she had ordered from a costume shop in New York. It was more beautiful then she could have imagined. She finally let out a breath as she turned and examined her treasure from every angle. She held the mask upside down, and lowered her face into the opening. She recoiled in disgust before giggling. The strong smell of rubber and chemicals was wretched, but she was sure it would air out. Perhaps, she would learn to love the smell?

She stood in front of the standing mirror in her room, bat in one hand, mask in the other. She stared at herself. She wasn't sure what to expect or even how to begin. Finally, she slid the mask over her head. Her vision was instantly obstructed. "Ill have to open these eye holes a bit." She said to herself, readjusting the mask on her face.

She stopped, when she realized she was looking at herself, with the mask on in the mirror, for the first time. She stood straight, and swung the bat over her shoulder, feeling confident, as she leaned foreword menacingly. She smiled under the mask, maybe it was the chemicals in this mask going to her head, but she swore, it made her feel somehow powerful and free.

She brought the head of the bat down against her palm, making a satisfying slapping sensation. She gripped the bat aggressively, and twisted her wrists, before tapping the bat against her open palm, a warning to anyone who would dare mess with her. She let the bat drop so it hung loosely from her hand, so the large end rested on the floor in front of her foot. She placed her right hand behind the back of her masked head and attempted a sexy pose. She giggled, feeling equal parts idiotic, and empowered. Corey didn't have a terrible body, she was in better shape then most, taller at least... but she would need some kind of transformation before she could consider herself anything other then ordinary.

Transformation... Jacket went through such a change so he could kill hundreds of people. Something no mere human could accomplish. Killing during times of war or under the command of some gang boss was one thing... but to go into a building unarmed, using only your bare hands and the weapons of your enemies... it was nothing short of spectacular.

She had killed during the war, but it wasn't anything like she saw on TV. She fired from her gun, at shapes, at movement, at figures in the distance. When the smoke had cleared and the deafening noises stopped, they counted the dead, and told her she killed these two here, or these three there. It was nothing as intimate as one of Jacket's kills. Only once, did she encounter the enemy, "Up close and personal" It used to fill her with anxiety just thinking about it. She tried to block the memory entirely and buried it deep in her mind, but that was before. Before Jacket had opened her eyes. Now, she could recall the incident as if it had happened yesterday.

When she was sent to check a warehouse for signs of traps or ambushes, a young Russian soldiers jumped her, knife in hand. He was fast and came from the side, but Corey surprised herself. She brought the barrel of her rifle across the young man's forehead and dropped him to the ground. She slammed the stock of her rifle against the Russian youth's head again and again, stopping only when the young man's blood had splashed up on her jacket, and the fire burning in her heart began to subside. Whether the burning sensation was fear or excitement, she could not answer to herself, not at the time. Now, she liked to think it was a mixture of the two.

The blood was so very red, more vibrant then any other color she had seen before. She was no stranger to blood, even before the war she had seen drive-bys, witnessed mugging turned murders, but it was nothing compared to the body at her feet, to the blood on her clothing, on her hands, and in her hair. So red. She imagined blood was only this color, when you had spilled it with your own two hands. She never saw red that brilliant again. Perhaps, that all would change soon. Perhaps, she would see that color red again.


	2. Chapter 2

Corey inspected the coconuts at the local fruit vendor for ripeness. Or rather, she pretended too. In truth she was checking for size and firmness. Her secret hang out spot, a basement level of a collapsed building, was still missing a few final details. She had meant to pick up the remaining items last night, after work, but the excitement of the mask arriving after an exceptionally melancholy day, caused her to procrastinate. _"Probably for the best."_ She thought. More time to prepare, after all.

"Hey fry cook." A flash of turquoise blue caused her head to snap in its direction. A 50 Blessings van had pulled up just alongside of her. Her eyes locked onto the messy spray paint job, that some how captured the savage intent behind the phony patriotic support hot line. In truth, 50 Blessings had been so much more.

How much more, Corey could not say. No one could, none that could. Jacket, along with the rest of the masked vigilantes, apparently worked for 50 Blessing but that was only theoretical. The only concrete evidence the press had released was that the masked vigilantes were all on the 50 Blessing mailing list.

Rumor has it, they somehow brainwashed their operatives, turning a curious, or bored citizen, into a programmed killing machine. The details were sketchy at best, everything from government conspiracy to aliens were rumored to be the cause. The truth of the matter was, if anyone knew the details, they werent talking.

"I said… hey Corey, how's it going?" Corey blinked and looked up for the first time at the driver of the van. Ash, Alex's sister, was looking out at her from the front seat side window. Corey always found him to be an unusual looking man. He was lithe, and short of stature, not much shorter then the average man, but because of the width of shoulders and slenderness of his body, he was often described as "little guy" among his friends. He also started balding back in high school and had kept his head clean shaven ever since. His bright blonde eyebrows were the only traces of his original hair color.

He was giving her an annoyed look. _"Sigh…_ _your doing it again Corey."_ She thought. "Oh, hey Ash… sorry I was distracted. Where did you get this van?" Corey did her best to reign in her interest level over Ash's new ride. He smiled proudly, before his eyes betrayed his own manic excitement. "The find of a life time, right? The pawn chop next to the place I used to work had it, they were going to sell this beauty piece by piece!" Ash said. Corey shook her head in disbelief. "Are they nuts? This thing is a piece of American history. It would be like chopping up the car Kennedy was assassinated in." Ash chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Yea, that's what I told them. Cost me more then I really could afford… I lost my job at the VCR repair shop…"

An awkward pause fell between them. Corey was the one to finally break the silence. "Oh, that's to bad." Ash nodded, disinterestedly. "Yea, shit happens... say have you been in contact with Mark?" Ash asked. Corey shook her head. "Not lately, I should give the big guy a call though…" He nodded, biting his lip. "When you do, could you mention my name? I was kinda hoping he could use some help at the shop, the kind that pays." Ash chuckled, smiling shamelessly. "I'm sure there's something for a guy with a bachelor's in electrical engineering to do there." Ash said, to which Corey smirked ever so slightly. "Yea, especially if he gets a new shipment of death rays…" Ash frowned. "Whatever, I'm sure there's something I can do, I'm good with my hands." Corey nodded and looked off to the side. "Yea… well I should really be heading off, I have a lot left to do today so…" Ash nodded. "Fine Ill let you go. You know... they say a coconut is about as hard as a human skull." Ash said. "Yea, I think I have heard that…"

Corey smashed the coconut with her bat, splashing the big nut's juices all over the concrete half wall it was resting on. She nodded her masked head in approval. "Guess that answers that question…" She said to herself, picking the pieces of coconut from her bat before giving it a spin in her hand. She glanced at the rest of her "Urban Training ground."

There was a dozen filthy tires, set up in two crooked rows for stamina exercises. The support pillars were wrapped with cardboard and duct tape with crude penciled depictions of Russian mobsters drawn on them to act as targets. Several empty glass bottles, hammers, and other heavy, dangerous if thrown objects were laid across collapsed cardboard boxes on the ground.

Corey had transformed her little condemned basement, in the same way she wished to transform herself, making what was one plain and dumpy into a functioning palace of vigilante justice. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her, at least for now. She quickly ran across the trail of tires, ending with a flourishing somersault, tucking the baseball bat close to her body. She landed roughly on her hot pink roller blade knee pads, and rolled to her feet. She staggered off balance with a grimace.

" _Not good enough."_ She was being overly cautious. Her natural inclination to meet each problem with reserve was slowing her actions. "Never getting anywhere in life going slow…" She grinned under her mask at the irony of taking advice from her portly employer. If he could see her now… what would he think then?

Still, it troubled her that she was hesitating. The whole point of doing something as crazy as donning a mask, to become a vigilante, is to act, not hesitate. From all that she read on the man, Jacket never hesitated, he simply acted. _"Speed."_ She thought. She took a deep breath, thankful she had cut a slit near her mouth for better air intake, and stormed through the gauntlet of tires again.

She imagined those pillars to be armed Russian thugs, in their white suits. She thought about San Francisco and the bomb that had dropped there. She thought about her piece of shit job, and her piece of shit apartment, and her piece of shit life. A prison within a prison within a prison, the first cage starting within her mind.

No longer. Her cages ceased to exist. It was only for the moment, but it was her moment. Before she even remembered taking a step through the first tire, she was already across the whole obstacle course. She rolled so fast, and with so much momentum, she glided across the concrete floor like a zebra striped canon ball.

She rose to her feet, using the momentum from her roll, and brought the bat across the card board target that was wrapped around the pillar. The bat snapped in half from the sheer violence of her swing. The adrenaline pumping through her body, through her brain, made her feel like she could have torn the pillar down if the bat didn't break. Without hesitation, she threw the handle from her hand with violent, deadly accuracy, slamming into the targets in front of her. She glanced at the two remaining mobsters, who know doubt saw her smash their friends skulls wide open in front of them.

She sprinted and rolled around to the side of the mobster she threw the bat fragment at, now considering it a pillar to block any potential bullets. She didnt stay in cover long, she sprinted and rolled again, snatching up a bottle on the ground on her way back up to her feet. She threw the bottle, striking the mobster in the chest. The bottle shattered into a million pieces. She closed the distance between her and her target, picking up hammer on the ground. She buried it into the cardboard face, making a divot in the concrete underneath.

She glanced around the pillar/mobster, scoping out the best way to kill her last target. A cinder block, just five or so feet away. Corey was no fool, she knew the odds of reaching the cinder block, without being cut down by a hail of bullets were low. She would need a distraction. She threw the hammer, striking her last enemy in the shoulder. She sprinted faster then she ever ran before in her life, reaching the cinder block and thrusting her fingers inside of its rectangular openings with one hand. She spun her whole body around, spinning her and the block in a wide, powerful circle before letting it go, sending it out like a deadly boulder towards the last remaining Russian.

The cinder block flew passed the mobster target, landing with a thud onto the ground. The unscathed gunman would have assuredly pumped her full of bullets by now. _"_ _Guess I'm dead…"_ She thought. Even though she had "died" she had never felt so alive.

She popped the buttons of her Miami Dolphins jacket, giving her sweaty stomach underneath some much needed air. She panted under her mask, refusing to take it off, even as she gasped through the slit for oxygen. She had herself quite the workout. If the smashed in coconuts were any indication of her lethality, she had proven she was capable of putting fantasy, into reality.

She had run through her course from every different angle she could think of, dozens of times by now. She would run it a thousand times more, but for now, it was a long day, and her body needed rest. She smiled under the mask, at the waves of euphoria that released themselves into her blood, as she stretched her sore arms and shoulders. Though her body was exhausted, her mind couldnt have been happier.

She reluctantly slipped off the mask, and placed her fantasy back into the duffle bag she hid it in. She took a messy slurp from one of the smashed coconut husks, before tossing it aside. It was time to go home. She opened the door of the to the outside world, to the loud, stress inducing city, and closed it behind her. It took all of her depleted strength to slide the heavy slab of concrete in front of the ruined building's basement level. Hopefully the heavy fragment would keep her secret sanctuary out of the hands of the homeless and drug addicts, at least for awhile longer. As she made her way from the ruined building and back to civilization, a familiar figure walked in front of her.

It was Tony. "W _hat is he doing here?"_ She grimaced. She wanted to go home, and she wasn't in the mood to banter, especially with Mr. Testosterone. He blinked in surprise, before smiling smugly. "Hey there, couldn't get enough of me, huh? You following me now?" Corey rolled her eyes, and tried to push passed him.

"Excuse me…" Corey glanced down at her bag, and tried to subtly move it out from Tony's line of sight, and behind her back. Tony let her walk passed him, only to thrust a hand out and grab the bag roughly. Corey let out a yell and quickly pulled against it defensively. Tony's arm barely flinched, and he looked down at the bag curiously.

"What'd you bring me?" Corey jerked the bag from his grasp, or rather, Tony released his grip on it. She huffed and gave him the best withering glare she could muster. Tony didnt even look at her, much to Corey's dismay. His eyes seemed locked on her bag. As Corey tried to stare a hole through the back of his head, she slowly realized his blank stare, was slowly changing to that of realization. His mouth was partly opened in thought. Corey's face flushed with red with horror. She looked down at the bag… the big ape had opened it during their tugging. He had been staring into the empty eye sockets of her zebra mask. Into the eyes of her fantasy.

Corey looked back up, her angry glare further fueled by a wounded humiliation behind it. Tony looked back at her glare, and gave back a shit eating grin. Her heart sank in her chest. She felt the flames of her passions grow cold. Her fiery glare became a broken stare, as she awaited for Tony to mock her. Much to Corey's surprise, he didn't say a word, he only grinned a strange knowing smile.

After awhile, Tony took a step back, and then another, maintaining his teasing smirk as he walked backwards several steps. Finally, he turned and strutted away, leaving Corey to her shattered sense of self. When she returned home she threw the bag against the wall, and swore out loud. Her teeth clattered, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. That big thug, that giant ape, why did he have to be there? Why did he have to try and ruin it for her?

A nagging doubt, began to rear its ugly head. That she was not doing anything remarkable, but rather, behaving like an idiotic child. She grit her teeth. Right now, she needed a cold shower, and a good nights sleep, though she doubted the latter would come.

Corey awoke to the grating sound of her alarm. "Oh no…" The new day was here, and she had no idea what she was going to do. She would change for work, eat a hardy breakfast of cold pizza, and wait for the bus, sure… But it was what she would do after work, that gnawed at her guts.

Work was over before she knew it. This surprised Corey. She assumed work would drag on and on, but with all the thoughts of the mask, of her urban obstacle course, and Tony's smug, stupid face, she didn't have the mental energy to even register that she was at work.

From the look on her bosses face, she would be lucky if she still had a job by the end of the week. Even Alex looked at her oddly, sensing something was wrong, or at the very least different. Alex never was the one to ask how Corey was doing before, and she didnt start now. Then again, Corey wasn't exactly curious herself of the blonde bimbo's personal life either, especially now.

She had planned to return to her vigilante training, to her second, arguably real life, as if she had never ran into Tony. That was what she planned to do, but as the hour approached, she tried put off even thinking about it… but in the end, all she could do was think about it. She decided to pick up more coconuts on the way home from work, so she could at least say to herself, she did that much.

She walked passed her duffle on the kitchen counter and went straight into her room. She stopped to stare at the wall. Every article, every picture and every letter stared back at her. No, she had to go back. As her wall reminded her, this was her true self. She couldn't just let one mocking look throw it all away.

She stuffed the coconuts into the bag with her mask before throwing it over her shoulders. As she waited at the bus stop, a feeling of dread grew in her stomach. A sullen expression was clung to her face when she arrived at the ruined building. The slab of concrete had been moved. She knew who had moved it.

She opened the door, and entered slowly. Her face was a grim mask as scanned the area. Though she couldn't see Tony, she knew he was there. She closed the door behind her and pulled her mask from the her bag. She swung the duffle bag onto the half wall, where a hammer, and the crushed remains of several coconuts, lay sprawled across it. She reached down slowly, and gripped the handle of the hammer, and brought it down at her side. There she stood, mask in one hand, hammer in the other.

Her mind went to a dark place. She didnt know what she would do when Tony showed himself. She was mad at him, she hated him, but did she want to kill him? Could she kill him? She narrowed her brow. She would find out soon enough. "I know your here, quit hiding and show yourself…" Corey said, gripping the hammer tightly in her hand.

Tony moved his foot into view. The big bastard was hiding behind one of the support columns that Corey re purposed for target practice. He had taken a single step to the side, but still, he did not fully show himself. Her lips snarled. "Show yourself, now." Corey's voice was quite, but a dangerous intent dwelt within her words. Tony's foot, slid to the side slowly. The sound of his cowboy boot scraping the dirt across the concrete screeched in Corey's ears as he stepped into view. He did so quickly, spreading his arms to the side in a brazen display. "Hey, check this shit out!" Tony said, his voice slightly muffled.

Corey held her breath, her eyes were glued onto his face, rather, what he was wearing over it. It was a mask. A rubber tiger mask. Not a simple Halloween costume like she had. His was damaged, ripped and shredded in several places. One of the eye holes was torn larger then it once was, with dried blood sprinkled over its exterior. This was a mask, a mask worn by a late 50 blessing operative, and Tony had it in his possession.

Her lips trembled, and she dropped the hammer. "How…?" She muttered. Corey could see by the raising of his cheekbone, through the torn eye hole, that Tony was grinning back at her, his eyes burning with their familiar, predatory light. "What? Y'think you're the only one?" Tony asked smugly.

Corey didn't react, she was speechless. The thought never really occurred to her. She stared at Tony's bloody tiger mask, even as he walked over and removed one of the coconuts from her bag. "Nice little psychopath playground you got here. Noticed you've been practicing with weapons on these coconuts here." Corey felt naked, as Tony complimented her training ground, so she slipped on the mask. For some reason, it was comforting for her, that they both were wearing masks. Maybe Tony really was like her, and this relic he found, was more his true face, then the one underneath it.

She watched silently, as he reached into her bag, and placed a coconut on the ruined half wall, next to the other smashed husks. Tony looked back at her, as he leaned his upper body over the coconut. "The thing with me is… I don't need weapons." Without saying a word to explain himself, he threw a sudden punch straight down. His gnarled knuckles crashed against the rough exterior, cracking a deep fissure through the large nut. He followed up his first punch with another, caving the coconut in and spattering its milk across the concrete.

Corey's mouth opened his astonishment. Tony turned around, his fist dripping with juice. "My body is a fuckin' weapon." Corey understood. He didn't need to explain. Without words, and in little time at all, they understood one another more intimately then most people who spend an entire lifetime with one another.

What happened next was strange for Corey. They talked and bantered. Tony's abrasive personality was no less caustic, but for some reason, with their true faces on, Corey didn't mind it so much. The longer they prattled on, the more she learned to accept his rougher qualities.

Tony watched Corey run her gauntlet, and she listened silently as he mocked her afterwards. It all somehow felt… normal, as if it was something they should have been doing all along. Corey cleared her throat, and gathered her thoughts. "So, do you think there are others…?" Tony grunted. "Others like us? Probably." Corey nodded thoughtfully. "What do you think would happen, if we found more people like us?" Corey asked, chewing her lips afterward, in thought.

Tony didnt respond for awhile. He kicked at a broken cinder block on the ground, before looking back up at her. "We could take this shit to the next level." He said with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Against all of her better judgment, against all common sense, Corey smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

"This here is the meat and potatoes of home defense." Mark said, brandishing the simple pump action 12 gauge from the glass case. He tugged at his tight fitting, gray t-shirt, making sure it fully covered his large pot belly, before tossing the shotgun up into the air, catching it by the pump action, chambering it with a jerk of his arm, like some kind of action hero. He grinned proudly through his brown bushy beard at the customer.

He had been practicing that far more then he'd care to admit, but he did work at a gun store. It helped to give the uninitiated a little flair from the movies to capture their attention. Most idiots didnt know shit about guns anyway. "Simple, reliable, powerful. Doesnt matter how big a man he thinks he is... he takes twelve gauge loaded with buckshot to the chest... knock um flat on their ass."

The unusually nervous man nodded, eying the pump action shot gun lustfully. "Thats good, thats good..." The man said, looking around. Mark was getting sick of this guy already, he had another weirdo on his hands, but he was on the clock so he just smiled, like usual, when the customers got on his nerves. Through his warm smile, he watched the customer carefully. He was wearing a business suit, but it was stained with sweat. The man's tie was loose, his shirt color unbuttoned. He looked as if he had slept in it on the streets somewhere. He had a distant, desperation in his eyes that made Mark nervous. He tried to follow the man's glances.

The gun shop which he worked was nearly empty. Aside from the guns, and patriotic war banners, there wasnt much look at. The only other body in the store, belonged to an older woman, who was staring at the snub nose revolvers a few feet away, probably looking for something to stuff into her purse. As she should, It was getting rougher and rougher out there, Mark thought. Every day you hear about some poor sod with his brains blown out in some alley, or a women with her throat slit, face down in a gutter. It was open season on decent Americans.

He noticed his strange customer was eye balling the framed military patch he had hung on the wall. Mark turned and glanced at the snarling wolf face looking back at him through the glass and smiled proudly. "Yea that was my unit, The Ghost Wolves. The last line of defense... for what good it did us." Mark mumbled towards the end of his sentence.

While he felt a swelling of pride in his recollection of the time he served, of the men and women he fought and bled besides, he couldnt forget how that conflict ended. The Russians had managed to set a nuclear power plant into melt down, making his units military victories null and void. A year later San Francisco would be nuked, and America surrendered rather then risk a full scale nuclear slugging match. It was hard to think it wasnt all for nothing.

He glanced back at the customer, only to see him nod apathetically, showing no interest whatsoever. Typical. Nobody cares about about "almost heroes" after all, America lost and that was the end of it. "Will it shoot fast enough? I might need... to defend myself from multiple attackers..." The anxious customer said, making sure to avert his gaze. Mark felt his stomach twist into a knot. He wasnt sure he bought his self defense claim, and the more he looked at him, the more he questioned whether or not a man like this should even own a gun.

Then again, he wasn't this man's guidance consular. He worked at a gun store. His boss had never picky who he sold to anyway, it wasnt any of their business what the customers did on own time. "You saw the end of it off, with a hack saw, increase the spread, able to take out two or more with one shot..." Mark said hesitantly. "Ill take it." The disgruntled businessman eagerly replied.

Mark sighed and cracked his back by stretching his broad shoulders. Another day peddling freedom, one firearm at a time. He cleaned out the cash register and scribbled down his earnings, before locking the cash away in the safe. He glanced at his watch. The owner, Ron, was due back hours ago. Mark wasnt too worried, the man was always packing heat after all. Still, he was supposed to relieve him when he got back. "I should be used to this by now." Mark thought.

The owner was a hard man to work for, and Mark was to passive to challenge him. Mark hated that about himself. He fought in the Soviet/American war for Christ's sake, but whenever someone asked something of him, he usually just bit his tongue and let them roll right over him. "Weak, fat ass piece of shit..." He mumbled to himself. The phone rang, startling Mark out of his self loathing. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear. "Ron's Gun's, we're just closing up so..." "Hey Mark, how you been, big guy?" A familiar voice, one he hadnt heard in awhile was on the other end of the phone. "Corey... its been going, you know how it is." Mark said.

Embarrassment surged through his brain like a bucket of ice cold water, as memories of him following her around after the war, like a love struck puppy entered his mind. She was always kind of aloof, and mousey, but she was easy on the eyes, and had a body that wouldnt quit. Least it would quit later then his big ass did. Corey chalked it up to her roller blading, but regardless, they were quite a team. The big brown bear, and the mouse. She had a knack for moving quickly and quietly, through the tropical terrain of Hawaii, and he had a reputation for wielding an M60 machine gun like it weighed nothing and pouring oceans of hot lead into the tropical foliage, turning the Russians hiding within into mulch.

The feeling he felt, when he just let go, let all the anger and the hurt channel into the rapid kick of his weapon, it was a high like no other. He was more then just some fat gun store clerk, he was a beast that no one wanted to fuck with. Or fuck at all, turned out. Back in their civilian lives, Corey made it pretty clear she had mentally shuffled him into the friend zone. He wasnt proud of it, but when he realized Corey would never see him as anything more then just a big goofy friend to drink beer and eat pizza with, he grew less and less interested in her over the passing months. Still he was happy the girl didnt catch the hint, and made the effort to stay in touch despite his moping.

"Oh, thats good thats good..." Corey said, her voice trailing off. Mark let out an annoyed grunt. She reminded him of the customer she had earlier, dancing around some subject and not speaking her mind. "Yea well is there something you wanted to talk about? Or did you just need to hear my sexy voice to help you fall asleep?" Mark grinned, even though a small pang of sadness blossomed in his chest. Corey made snoring noises over the phone, and Mark couldnt help but laugh despite himself.

"There's the Mark I remember." Corey said quietly. Mark wasnt sure what to make about that. "What, havent been laughing enough lately?" Corey didnt say anything. "Look I'm fine, Its late and my boss had me work over time again, so thats how its going." Mark said. "Ah... well its a dangerous neighborhood where you work..." Corey said cautiously. Mark furrowed his brow. "Yep, always has been..." He replied. "But a lot more lately... with all the Russians moving in, you told me that right?" Corey said. Mark hesitated for a bit before responding, an inkling of fear creeping into his stomach. "Did I? Yea, its been dangerous all over lately, lots of... bad people out there." Mark tapped his foot anxiously.

Corey was acting weird, and he didnt like it. He was tempted to make up and excuse to hang up the phone before she suddenly blurted something out. "Hey remember Jacket?" She said. Mark blinked, hesitating before answering. "I remember when we just called him Blondie, before he became the man, the myth, the legend." Mark chuckled nervously, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Jacket was a... controversial subject, one that oddly enough, Corey and Mark had never spoken of before. He preferred to keep his personal opinion of the man and his... activities, to himself. "Yea... we didnt talk to him much did we? He was always hanging out with Beard and those two psychos..." Corey said distantly. Mark narrowed his eyes, her voice had grown withdrawn again. "Oh yea, that gang banger Barnes and... that fat ass whats-his-name." Mark said casually. "Yea..." Corey hesitated again, letting the conversation stall.

Mark was starting to get worried. He didnt know if she was in trouble, or avoiding telling him some fucked up secret, but she was definitely acting strange. "You ever think about it...?" Corey said cautiously. Mark mulled over her words before finally asking. "Think about what?" Corey didnt respond for a long while. "Nothing never mind... I gotta go Mark, see ya around." Corey said quickly. "Hey Corey, wait." Mark said. Corey didnt say anything, but he didnt hear her disconnect the line either. "Let's get some beer and pizza soon, yea?" "Yea sure..." Corey said reluctantly. Mark narrowed his brow as he heard the click of Corey disconnecting the call. "What the hell was she on about...?" Mark mused out loud.

The jingle of the bell attached to front door of the shop chimed pleasantly through the night air. Mark looked up, expecting to see Ron walking through the door. What he did see sent a chill running through his spin. A large, powerful looking man in a dark suit stepped in through the door. He straightened his blazer by the open lapels, with his golden ring clad fingers. He looked around the store with an undeniable arrogance about him. Not once did his eyes acknowledge Mark, as he stood there watching the man in silence.

The big man took another heavy step towards the front counter, allowing two men in white suits to enter the building, flanking him on both sides. Together, all three of the men approached Mark. A wall of flesh, muscle and gaudy gold jewelry stood before him. Finally, the strongman looked down upon Mark. Mark felt a tremor in his hands as he slowly put the phone back against its receiver. He tried as best as he could, to speak without his voice quivering.

"M-may I help you?" The large man in the dark suit only smiled back in response. There was nothing friendly in the way he smiled. "You must be Mark." The strongman said, his voice thick with a Russian accent. Mark's eyes wavered down to the gold hammer and sickle tie pin the strongman wore. He had already come to the conclusion it was the Russian mob paying him a visit, though he still could not fathom why. The trademark white suits the mobsters wore, was the equivalent of gang colors, the trademark of a mob family taking over organized crime in Florida.

The two henchmen watched Mark eagerly, as if waiting for him to make a move, say something inappropriate, to give them any excuse to reach over the counter and end his life. The excited cruelty in their eyes was nearly as unnerving as the confident, demeaning tone in the strongman's voice.

The mob boss glanced at the man to his right, who stepped foreword and slapped Mark across his mouth and nose. Stars shot into Mark's brain as he reeled back, only to be quickly jerked foreword again by the Russian who slapped him. The Russian strongman stared right through Mark with dead, fish like eyes. "I give you small mercy this time. In future, when I speak, you answer. This is first time you offend me, so my man here hit you."

Mark gritted his teeth as he felt blood trickle from his nostril. He had been so stunned, like a deer in the headlights, he forgot to answer the mob enforcer. "Next time you dont speak when spoken too, he doesnt hit you, I hit you. When I hit you, I don't stop until you move no more. Do we have understanding?" Mark couldnt help himself but whimper, and he quickly nodded. "Yes, Im sorry!"

The mob enforcer just nodded back at him again, far more amused then before, now that Mark was blubbering and bleeding for him. "You are Mark, this I know. Your boss man, he say Mark... he look like great big bear, but he is like pussy... no bear." The Russian mobsters words, weighed with the thick accent bore into his chest, ripping through his heart as if they were wrapped in barbed wire. He stared back at the strongman , a dark anger growing stomach, and it took all of Mark's willpower to keep it from bleeding through into his eyes.

The Russian strongman simply chuckled dismissively. "Where's Ron...?" Mark asked, after the henchmen finally released him. The cold, cruel look in the strongman 's eyes told Mark all he needed to know before the Russian even spoke a word. "You wont be seeing him anymore. He no longer runs this place, we do, you work for us now."

Mark's stomach turned itself inside out. Ron was probably in the trunk of his car right now, and the Soviet shit heads who put him there were standing right in front of him. Mark nodded weakly in response, still unable to process fully what was happening. The Russian strongman continued. "Good, let us talk tomorrow night. Tomorrow, you will be robbed, your guns taken." Mark just stared in response. The Russian strongman hardened his gaze. "You will not be here. We come, we take what Ron has owed, you write off stolen goods for insurance. Simple yes?"

Mark nodded weakly, keeping his gaze down at the counter before him. The strongman nodded, before leaning foreword. He placed his ringed knuckles onto the glass, that creaked under his weight. Mark winced, as he felt the Russians warm breath against his face. "I do not need tell you what happens if you call police, dah?" Mark felt his heart skip a beat, as he shook his head no. The Russian kept his dead eyed gaze locked onto Mark. Mark cringed under his stare, but was powerless to do anything but look back. After what seemed like minutes, the mob enforcer nodded slowly. "Good."

Mark looked down at his hands on the counter, he watched them tremble and shake. Pathetic. Weak. If he so much as looked at the mobsters wrong, they would have beaten him to an inch of his life, even still, his mind burned with humiliation. Wounded pride bled into his stomach. He walked from around the counter, stumbling as if he were drunk. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so powerless, so dominated by the strongman, he couldnt even stand on his feet.

His hand touched the wooden frame hung on the wall. He looked up at the face of the snarling wolf, at his military patch. A hot range erupted inside of him. He smashed his fist against the glass, shattering it, cutting into the flesh of his hand. The small plaque fell onto the ground, and no sooner then it had, Mark stomped his boot down against it, over and over again until the wooden frame and glass was scattered across the tile floor. He panted, staring down at the military patch, now free of its prison of glass and wood.

His breathing eventually slowed, his heart beat began to normalize. The snarling gaze of the Ghost Wolf patch was somehow calming to Mark. He slowly reached down, and scooped up the patch, brushing off the fragments of glass. He caressed it gently against his thumb, before turning away from the wall. He walked slowly through the door to the storeroom at the back of the store. A work bench with a reloading press, and stacks of ammunition took up much of the back room. Packages of gun parts, and special ordered pieces were organized along the back of the storeroom.

Mark turned to the space against the wall where he kept his own personal items. A large, metal gun case rested unassumingly amongst the packages and weapon parts. A simple black back pack rested atop it. Mark caressed the patch with his thumb once more, before stuffing it in his back pocket. He reached out slowly to the back pack, his hand trembling. Mark feared the contents within the pack, it was the part of him he locked away after the war. It was the part of him that wanted to come out as the Russian looked down at him.

He unzipped the bag and stared inside. He knew, once he let that part of him out, he would be unable to put it back. He pulled the object from inside the back pack slowly. The dark, empty eye sockets of the grizzly bear mask stared back at him, permanently frozen with its maw open, its fangs bared. Eternally roaring, eternally enraged. The Russian strongman had told him he planned to rob his store, that he wouldn't be there. As Mark slid the Mask over his face, he felt the familiar rage begin to take him. The Russian would be right of course, Mark would not be at the store tomorrow night. Something else will have taken his place.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day went by in a blur for Mark. His mood swung from high to low at random bursts. At one point he found himself hyperventilating over the dingy sink of the gun store bathroom and an hour later he gave away a .308 hunting rifle to a father and son, purely on a whim. It was hard to care about turning a profit, or making sure the books were balanced. It was hard to care about anything anymore.

Mark closed early and took the phone off the line to prepare for tonight. He checked the thirty round magazines of his 9mm sub machine guns, and the two spare magazines he had for each gun. He loaded and unloaded the hand gun rounds into the magazines, more out of compulsion then any logical purpose, anything to keep his mind in the here and now. He had made up his mind last night, he wouldnt let fear rob him of his decision.

He gave a sideways glance at the backpack where he kept his rubber mask as his fingers worked dexterously. While he longed to put his old face back on, to become the inner animal lurking inside the fat pussy he was on the surface, he couldnt help but feel a wave of dread just at the sight of it. The next time he put on that mask, would be the last time. It would be one of the last things he would ever do. His fingers slipped, and the 9mm round slid from the spring loaded magazine and bounced onto the ground. "Get a hold of yourself Mark." He said to himself. "Not like you had a whole lot to lose, anyway..."

Mark looked up at the clock on the wall. It wasnt even four, and he was already losing his mind. He cursed under his breath and tapped his fingers against the glass counter anxiously. He was starting to wish he hadnt closed early for the night. At least the customers would have given him something to preoccupy his mind. More importantly, it would stop his imagination from predicting what his mangled corpse would look like.

He looked at the phone next to the cash register. A picture of his unit, the Ghost Wolves, all lined up, side by side, in rows, was taped to his side of the counter. He smiled gently at the still image, at Corey and him standing side by side. Corey had a small open mouth smile that almost hid the deep seated sadness that always seemed to be dwelling behind her eyes. He stood by her side, hand clamped gregariously on her shoulder, squeezing her against himself with a big jolly smile across his face. He was proud of himself, he was afraid, he was anxious of what the commies would throw at them, but he was confident. He had a mission, a purpose. He missed that feeling. He had been going through the motions ever since without drive, without purpose.

He ran his finger over Corey's image longingly. "Well, better late then never..." Mark grumbled to himself bitterly as he picked up the phone. He dialed Corey's number quickly and waited with the phone to his ear. His heart sped up rapidly in his chest, anxiety turning his blood into acid. The phone rang, and rang, and rang.

"Hey Its Corey." Her automated voice said followed by a beep of the answering machine. Mark said nothing. He waited for a brief moment as he thought of something to say, before hanging up. "What is there to say?" Mark thought grimly. _"Hey, you wont get this in time, but Ill probably be dead when you do, yours truly, Mark..."_ Mark chuckled darkly at himself, before pushing the phone away in disgust.

Mark checked the clock again. It was thirteen past six, he would have be on his way home by now, if the Russians had their way. A serene calm fell over him as he sat at the counter silently. Already his body and mind were slowly accepting his disturbing reality. A knock on the door awoke him from his quite reflection. He strained his vision to see who the hell couldnt read the CLOSED sign at the front.

A small, chrome-dome headed figure was peering through the glass with a hand over his brow like a visor. It was Ash. "What the hell is Ash doing here?" Mark mumbled to himself. He was dumbfounded. Of all the times to pop in unannounced to catch up, he chose now? He knew Ash back from the war, but he wouldnt necessarily consider him a friend. He would pick up the phone if he knew he was calling, but he wouldnt go out of his way to help the man move a couch either.

He slowly walked to the door, racking his brain for what he would say to the man. Ash smiled brightly through the glass store door, as Mark reached to unlock it for him. Ash quickly pushed his way inside. "Hey Mark, long time no see. Did you know your phone is off the hook? Kept getting a busy signal." Ash said, looking around the place. Mark just nodded with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "Yea, I was doing inventory and didnt want to be disturbed..." Mark said, hoping Ash would catch the hint. Ash nodded with what Mark knew in his gut to be insincere sympathy. "Yea I know how that goes, sometimes you just need to be in the zone when you work. I swear, my boss at the repair shop was such an asshole. Kept looking over my shoulder, telling me like he knew my business better then me... the worst."

Mark sighed. Ash clearly wanted something, and Mark wasnt exactly in the mood to be hospitable. "Yea, I should really get back to doing inventory though... I want to catch up, Its been to long and all..." Mark said passively. Ash nodded, pretending to be oblivious. "Oh yea, it has been. Hey Ill just follow you back and keep you company then, win win." Ash smiled pleasantly. Mark was more then sure Ash knew he was trying to dodge him, but he also knew Mark was easily influenced.

Mark sighed. He lacked the energy to fight. "Alright, just for a few minutes though, then I really need you out of here." Ash nodded eagerly. "Sounds good to me big guy." Mark walked to the back room and swung the door of the storeroom open. He looked around slowly, trying to think of something to appear busy with while Ash peddled whatever it was he was selling to him. The gun case where he kept his personal beauties caught his eye. "Actually, I'm about done. I was just going to check my new purchase, wanna see?" Mark said, glancing over at Ash behind his shoulder.

Ash shrugged and gave him a smile. "Sure, what did you get this time, a mini gun?" Mark snorted at that and dropped to his knees, popping open the case. Ash stepped into the room and let out a whistle. "Nice... which one is for me?" Ash said with a smirk. Mark grunted and pulled both of the guns from the case. Two brand new Mp5's, a weapon Mark had always wanted. When he served in the war, he looked upon the special forces who used such weapons with envy, even though he was using a large belt felt hog.

"Nice try, these are both for me..." Ash chuckled at that. "Akimbo MP5s? Your a mad man, I like it." Mark smirked and thrust each gun foreword, tilting it to the side for effect. "Took um to the range just a week ago. You go through sixty rounds in seconds." Mark said smugly. Ash nodded. "Sounds like its a rush." "You have no idea..." Mark confirmed.

Ash fidgeted with his hands for a few seconds, before he finally got to the reason he came to the shop to begin with. "So I lost my job recently..." Ash said carefully. Mark figured it was something like that, he also found it oddly humorous he chose today of all days to swing by and ask.

He put the two sub machine guns back in their foam lined case as Ash continued. "...and I was thinking, since I did such a great job setting up your security system..." Mark made a mental note to remember to change the tapes for tonight. Wouldnt want to go out without an audience.

"...you could find me something to do around here, put in a good word for me with Ron." Ash said, hiding his desperation with a charming smile. Mark smiled back smugly. "Yea, Ron doesnt own the place anymore, I bought him out." Mark said. Hope flashed behind Ash's eyes. "Oh yea, no more partner for you?" Mark shook his head. "No more partner, Im the big man around here, more then just my gut." Mark gave his stomach a sharp slap. Ash smirked at that. "I wasnt going to say anything..." Ash said. "Uh huh, but about that job... why dont you give me your number, where I can reach you, and I'll get back to you?" Mark said.

He felt a pang of guilt in his chest. _"Well what else could I say? It's not like I really own the place..."_ While it was true, he was a co owner, the IRS would eventually come looking for the real owner.

A look of surprise, then disappointed washed over Ash's face. He nodded before answering. "Yea sure, here... I have it on my card." Ash reached into his wallet and pulled out the card of the electronics repair shop he used to work. Mark took it from him and scanned it quickly, before flipping it over. Ash had written his name and number on the back in blue pen. "Nice card..." Mark said, holding it up between his finger and thumb, before running it back and forth across his palm, making a ripping sound as the card flexed against his leathery mits. Ash just shrugged, as Mark fished out his wallet and slid the card inside.

Ash looked around, the look of uncertainty, and vague rejection lingered. He clearly sensed Mark was dodging him. His eyes fell onto the black pack back to the side of the gun case where Mark stored his MP5s. "Whats in the bag? Going back to college, big guy?" Mark felt a burst of panic. His"other self" was waiting impatiently inside the school back pack. Mark slowly realized he had nothing to be afraid of.

"Its where I keep my Miami Animal mask. Every day I think about putting it on, taking those two MP5s and cleaning the streets of all the shit, like a grind house film action hero." Mark said with a straight face. Ash's eyes widened, he looked back at Mark, frozen. Mark kept his face calm, knowing the truth was so preposterous that he would never believe him.

The look on Ash's face confused Mark. He looked startled, frightened even, as if he was the one with the blood soaked fantasy within arms reach. Ash's eyes searched Mark's carefully, scanning his face for clues, as if trying to read his mind. Finally, Mark smiled and let out a jolly laugh. "I'm joking, retard." Relief flushed over Ash's face like a tidal wave, before he too laughed and smiled back. "I know! Like **you** would ever actually do anything like that..." Mark shrugged, an amused smirk still on his face. "You never know..."

Ash blinked, the suspicion creeping once again into his eyes for a brief moment, before he hid it behind a nervous laugh. "Yea, you never know..." Mark looked at his wrist watch. "Well, its been fun but..." Ash nodded quickly. "Yea I hear you. Give me a call though later Mark, I mean it..." Ash said. Mark shrugged nonchalantly. "Of course."

He followed Ash to the front of the store, and Ash let himself out. He stopped on the sidewalk, before turning back around. Mark gave him a wave and waited awkwardly as the young man lingered. Ash eventually nodded back, before retreating down the sidewalk.

Mark narrowed his eyes. Ash was acting weird. Hell, everyone was acting weird today, but he didnt have the time or energy to worry about it anymore. Whatever issues Ash was dealing with, they had nothing to do with him.

# # #

Ash was in deep thought the entire drive back to his sisters place. Mark was always a passive, pliable man. He could always rely on the big man to bend to his influence... except this time, he did not bend. It didnt take Ash long to realize the big guy was hiding something. And then there was the bit about the mask... It was at that moment, he stopped being pliable. He stood firm and didnt budge. It was as if he saw him, the real Mark, for the first time. Ash's mind bubbled with the possibilities, with what it all could mean.

As he turned the keys to the apartment he and his sister owned, he thought about how he would bring this up to Alex. He opened the door, and no sooner then he stepped inside, he could smell the haze of weed coming from his sisters room.

He walked passed the kitchen, and stopped at the door before giving it a knock. "Its open..." Alex said, from the tone of her voice, Ash could tell she was baked out of her mind already. Alex pushed open the door. What he saw on the other side of it twisted his guts into knights. "Jesus... will you give it a rest already?" Ash said.

Alex was sitting on her bed, wearing only her panties and a white t-shirt. Craddled between her legs, she held a small chain saw, squeezed between her knees, the blade pointing up towards the ceiling. She wore her rubber swan mask over half of her face, slid up on her head so her mouth could reach her bong unimpeded.

"When are we going to do it?" Alex said in response. Even through the haze of ganja, the grave weight behind her words was unmistakable. It sent a small shiver of fear down Ash's spine. "Soon... I promise." Ash said, knowing very well it wouldnt be enough to placate his blood thirsty sister. "Words... just words. Its not about words Ash, its about action... violence." Ash winced. "Please, dont go fucking crazy on me Alex..." Alex turned her head to Ash for the first time since he entered her room. She raised her mask even more to let her piercing green eyes gaze into his. Even stoned out of her mind, her blood shot eyes managed to burrow into his. "I know you feel it too. We're the same you and me..."

They say that twins have a special connection, that even other siblings can't imagine. That they can feel and sense things in one another that border on extra sensory perception. Ash whole heartedly believed in such things. He and his sister could communicate non verbally, with simple body gestures and looks. They would sometimes spend entire days without saying a single word, like some kind of game. So when Alex told Ash that he felt it too, the craving, the bloodthirst, he knew she was right. He couldnt lie to her anymore then he could lie to himself.

"I know... we just have to be careful about it. We cant lose control." Alex leaned her head back against the head board of her bed. He could tell by her body language she was disappointed, mildly disgusted with Ash's response. "Its not about control... its about losing control." Alex said, matter of fact.

Ash felt a surge of frustration well inside his chest. "Fuck Alex, tell me I'm not going to come home one night and find some homeless guy in here you chopped to pieces!" Alex turned to him, her mouth partly open in disbelief before her eyes narrowed with indignant rage. "How could you say that?" She slid her mask fully down over her face before placing a finger firmly to her and the masks forehead, pressing it against her skull firmly. A dark purple, number one, was sloppily painted there. "I would never do that, never! I am killer swan number one... you are killer swan number two. We are a team. We are together in this."

Ash sometimes imagined it was his sisters influence that was solely to blame. That when he was apart from his dear sister, the bloodthirst, the fantasies and other dark urges subsided. He wanted that to be the truth but he knew it wasnt. Alex was right, they were a team, they always were, and always will be. They were more then just together in this, they were one. That was their shared fantasy, to be one. Two bodies, one entity with one purpose.

"Say it..." Alex insisted. "I'm killer number two." Ash whispered. "More..." Alex persisted. "I want to put my glock to someones head and pull the trigger." Though he couldnt see it, he could feel his sister beaming at him through her mask. "Yes, more!" "I want to see their brains splat against the wall. I want to taste the red mist and gunpowder in the air."

Alex laughed gleefully, her hands twitching as if involuntarily as they reached for her saw. She gripped the plastic handle of the starter cord and pulled it twice before the engine revved to life. Alex cackled gleefully and pressed down on the throttle, spinning the toothy chain of the saw through the air as she lifted it up.

This snapped Ash out of his momentary loss of control. "Hey shut that shit off!" Ash screamed through clenched teeth. Alex released the throttle but let the engine continue to sputter and whir. "You're no fun..." Alex pouted. "They wont have to work very hard to catch us, if our neighbors can hear the chainsaw running, will they?" Alex sighed and let the engine die, sinking back down into a sitting position and lolling back against her head board. "Fine... what is it you came in here to talk about?" Alex asked knowingly. Ash chose his words very deliberately. "I think there may be a killer number three out there..." Alex's body stiffened. She slid the mask up over her head, casting Ash a longing gaze. "Tell me everything."


	5. Chapter 5

Mark clicked the buckles of his olive green kevlar vest, pulling the straps tight against his bulging frame. It was similar to the one he wore in the Hawaiian conflict. The vest should stop anything short of a rifle round. It'll hurt like hell, like taking a hammer blow to the chest. He'd be sore for awhile, but at least he'd get a chance to **be** sore, rather then dead.

Mark knocked on his vest and brushing his hands along the areas of his shoulder and upper chest, where the vest did not protect, as well as the large gap of protection for his lower stomach, courtesy of his big gut. _"...Unless they shoot me anywhere_ _the vest isnt covering._ _"_ He thought. Still, being a large man with an extra layer of blubber between his internal organs and the vest reduced the change of being knocked out of the fight from broken ribs or deep tissue damage.

All of this was assuming he didnt get shot by a rifle round, which would punch right through the vest like it wasnt even there. He rubbed the large pouch in the front where the ballistic plates should have been, where they would have been if he hadn't put off ordering them. It was to late to do anything about that now. Even without the layer of steel, the vest could tip the balance of life and death in his favor... At least long enough to take another Russian or two with him, and that was all that mattered.

He took two boxes of 9mm rounds from one of the back shelves and set it on his work bench. His fat fingers popped open one of the thin cardboard flap one of the boxes and slid out the plastic tray. Fifty brass bullet cases gleamed up at him as he reached down and plucked one of them up. He turned the 9mm around, and stared listlessly at the simple bullet itself.

He placed the 9mm round in the vice grip attached to the work bench and tightened it in place. After fishing his folding knife from his pocket, he flipped it open with his thumb before pressing the blade against the soft metal of the bullet. He took a rubber mallet from the tool rack against the wall and tapped the back of the blade a few times. He pulled the knife away from the bullet and ran a finger across the small line he indented into it. He switched hands and placed the blade against the bullet again and repeated the process. When he was finished he loosened the vice and pulled the bullet from it, holding it up to his eyes.

The thin X he had indented into the soft metal was something he picked up, back from the war. More specifically, it was something they picked up from watching bad grind house movies, which gave him and his fellow soldiers the idea to implement it in real life. The little X in the bullet was to encourage it to break apart into four smaller fragments inside of the targets body, each piece a jagged, ripping chunk of metal liable to tumble its way into a vital organ or tear into an artery.

He repeated the process, until all one hundred bullets had marked. After that, he went through the process of feeding the modified rounds into the two magazines of his weapons, as well as two spares. As his fingers preformed their reptitive tasks, he kept his eyes glued on the small TV hooked up to the security camera overlooking the store.

When he finally finished, he sank down down in the folding chair behind him. He watched the live camera feed as it peered down at the glass display counters, and gun racks along the sides of the store. The feed was black and white, and pretty low res, a distortion on the side of the screen would occasionally cause half of the screen to appear as squiggly black lines. He checked his watch. It was a quarter past six. An anxious breath escaped his throat.

He glanced at the backpack, resting in the now empty gun case. He wasnt lying, when he admitted his violent fantasy in front of Ash. He kept a mask here at the store, with his submachine guns within arms reach. Why? He had no clear answer for this. If he had to guess, he kept it close by as a perverted sort of comfort, that no matter how much shit he took from customers or how manipulative his acquaintances were, he always had the option to escape into the back room, and emerge as his inner animal… and bathe the streets in blood.

He'd wash away all of the Russian filth, back into the gutters where they belonged. Why stop there? The gang bangers, the Colombians, the junkies and the dealers, the city would sigh in relief when their day of reckoning came. Mark couldnt help but chuckle to himself. He really was pretending to be a hero in a bad film. The cheesy, over the top, gory kind. The kind of movies he loved to watch.

An unnerving thought wiped the small smirk from his lips. By keeping the mask close, it became a constant temptation that tickled his darker, primal urges. The more he flirted with the dark thoughts in his head, the more they began to frighten him. If he let the beast out of its cage, would he be able to put it back?

Mark would have preferred to never find out. Here in this storeroom his fantasies would have remained for god knows how long. But that big fucking guy, that Russian asshole… he came into the den and poked the sleeping bear.

He had called him a pussy. Mark was a pussy. He was fat, pathetic, and emotionally weak. What better word could describe him then pussy? His friends would sometimes call him a "big bear" because he's large and easy going. Because he was afraid to be anything but pleasant. Mark always hated when they called him that, not because he was being called a bear, but because it showed how ignorant most people were.

Bears are not pleasant. Bears are not cuddly, or cute. Bears are big, belligerent animals that would maim, crush and kill someone for so much as thinking about entering their territory. A bear wouldnt do it out of necessity either. Not for food, or to protect itself, but for the shear audacity you showed by stepping a foot where it didn't belong.

Bears killed out of rage. They dont stop clawing and tearing until their insults are paid back ten fold, and their fury subsides. More often then not, the target of their rage is left a lifeless, tattered husk, but you cannot blame the bear. You blame the people who gave such a furious creature a reason to take vengeance in the first place. You either kill the bear out right, or leave it alone… but if you you try to take a bears life, you better be damn sure you shoot straight. An elephant may never forget, but a bear never forgives.

Mark's eyes locked onto the small security camera, as he waited. He no longer checked the clock. It was dark out, that's all he needed to know. After what felt like an eternity of staring into the black and white screen, several blurry objects, little more then shadows, lingered in front of the store. Mark leaned foreword, his eyes staring bullets into the small TV set.

The door to the front of the store swung open. He had locked that door, so the ones opening it had managed to pick the lock… or they had Ron's key. Because of the low resolution of the camera, he couldn't see the figures clearly. The lights of the store remained on at all times due to the simple fact that thieves preferred to work under the cover of darkness. Not that anyone in this neighborhood would bother calling the police. It was clear the four figures filing into the store one by one were not afraid of being seen.

Mark's eyes widened as he saw the final figure to step through the door. Of all the figures filing in, the last one stood a head taller then the rest. As the familiar strongman scanned the store slowly, he turned his head, giving the camera a clear shot of the mans face.

Mark felt a cold anger grow in his heart as he stood to his feet. He pulled his eagerly awaiting bear face from the black backpack before slinging it over his shoulders. He took his inner animal in both hands, and slowly lowered it over his face. His breath echoed against the insides of the mask as his heart sped up in his chest. It wasnt fear that caused his heart to race, but anticipation.

He pulled the MP5's from the worktable and gripped them tightly in each hand. It was time to kill. It was time to die. He pushed the metal door latch down with the barrel and foreword grip of the gun in his right hand, before pushing the door open a crack. For a brief moment he considered stealth, to creep up on his victims before springing his full auto trap. But that was Mark, the human, thinking that. He took a deep breath, and let it out. With it, he let Mark the human go, and embraced Mark the beast.

Without any thought, he brought his black combat boot against the door with a terrible crash, flinging it open, knocking it off one of its hinges from the sheer force. Adrenaline surged through his body as his leg crushed the sturdy door like it was nothing as he lumbered through the doorway at a swift pace.

He stood before the Russian mobsters brazenly, his twin submachine guns leveled at the mass of intruders. Time seemed to stand still in that moment. The Russian mobster's hands were frozen, caught in the act of shoveling hand guns and shotguns into duffel bags. Even the strongman, his arm reaching into his suit for whatever piece he had holstered there, was motionless, his eyes locked onto Mark's snarling bear mask.

They were like deer caught in the headlights. Like fish in a barrel. Mark relished the looks of shock in his victims faces. Just before he squeezed the triggers of his two submachine guns, and the explosive sounds of gunfire enveloped him, he heard a single satisfying word escape the strongman's lips. "You?"

The recoil of the MP5's kicked wildly against his arms. He embraced the recoil, he used it, letting the muzzle dance and sway over his dumb struck victims. He let out a throaty bellow, as the bullets tore through the white fabric of the mobsters suits, sending scraps of bloodied clothing tumbling through the air. Blood splattered onto the ground as each mobster hit the floor, it sprayed against the walls and glass display cases, it sprinkled into the air and fell again in bright red droplets on the tile floor. It was the most spectacular two point five seconds of Mark's entire life.

As the last discharged bullet casing landed against the hard concrete tile floor, and the smoke from his submachine gun's barrels cleared, one of Mark's victims staggered backwards. Mark glared at the strongman, who through some miracle had managed to remain on his feet. Blood ran down the side of the Russians leg, and pooled onto the floor. The arm that had been reaching for his weapon was now down at his side, shredded by three bullet wounds across his forearm and bicep. Several tears in the gaudily dressed enforcers shirt, littered his torso, but still the big man remained on his feet.

Mark couldnt help but be impressed at the strongman's stubborn fortitude. He felt his rage slowly subside, his anger trumped by an intense relief that washed over him. He had done it. He not only survived, he dominated. He and he alone stood unscathed. The Russian strongman struggled and swayed before Mark, his eye still locked onto the sight of his brown bear mask. Mark smiled under the mask with sick satisfaction as he placed one of the MP5's between his armpit to eject the magazine of the other submachinegun with both hands.

As Mark reached for a spare magazine, he saw the strongman raise his shredded arm. Mark's eyes widened in horror. Though his arm had been shot to shreds, the strongman managed to raise his piece. Mark was staring down the barrel of a .357 magnum. Mark dropped his empty guns from his hands and rushed the injured strongman, letting out a deep throated yell. Mark saw the flash from the revolvers muzzle, before the sudden impact to his upper chest rang through his body. He staggered backwards and fell against the display counter behind him, cracking the glass with his rear and lower back. The pain in his body was equal to the realization that entered his mind. The strongman too, was wearing a bullet proof vest.

A white hot wave of self loathing blossomed within Mark's chest. He had let this happen. He could have tried to blame it on the holes of his mask not being big enough, that he simply missed the revolver in the big mans hand, but he knew the real reason. He hesitated. He didnt give himself fully to the bear inside of him. He foolishly savored his minor victory instead of going for the final kill.

His teeth clattered as rage overtook him. The strongman's revolver was leveled at his head now, though the Russian struggled to keep it steady. Mark lunged for the strongman, more furious now then he had ever been. Before Mark could descend upon the Russian, the strongman collapsed to his hands and knees. It had taken all the Russian had to raise his gun for that single shot. He had nothing left.

Mark stomped his heavy boot down onto the strongman's shoulder, crushing the collar bone underneath. As the Russian groaned in pain, Mark gripped the big man by the head with both hands. His hands felt possessed, driven by the furious adrenaline high, as he lifted the Russians head up. His fingers squeezed against his skull as he thrust his thumbs into the Russians eyes, burrowing through them deep into his sockets. The Russians tortured scream became little more then a gurgle as Mark lifted with all of his might. He pressed down with his leg and foot, still tightly planted against the Russians shoulder.

Soon, the only screams came from Mark, as he felt the Russians head jerk and give way under his hands. With one final bellow Mark tore the strongman's head and part of his spine from his body, causing an eruption of blood to spatter against the rubber bear mask. Hoisting the head high above him, he let the droplets of blood rain into Mark's mask, until he tasted copper and saw only red.

. . .

Mark was motionless for nearly an hour. He stood there, leaning against the counter, his mask lifted up by his bloodied hand. His mask felt glued against his forehead with the sticky blood of the strongman. He panted. His breath no longer restricted he sucked in each breath as if it would be his last. Soon after, his body come down from his adrenaline high. In its absence, a weariness took its place, as did a disturbing realization. He was still alive.

His breath scratched against the roof of his mouth as he continued to stare ahead, at nothing in particular, his jaw slack, his face expressionless. He hadnt planned what he would do after his vigilante spree should he survive. Truth be told, it was easier to convince himself he was going out in a blaze of glory. He never thought he would have to deal with the aftermath.

The bear in him had since left, leaving Mark the human in control once again. He finally gathered all of his courage to timidly glance to his left. The bloody scene of carnage made him want to puke. He quickly turned away and closed his eyes tightly, focusing to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside.

He had seen blood and death before, sadly this was nothing new. Only these were not soldiers, this was not a battlefield in some tropic rain. This was right here in the store he came to work in every day. Unlike killing foreign soldiers, killing criminals had consequences both legal and illegal. "Ah shit..." Mark thought. He checked his watch, it was five past twelve. In the morning there would be people walking the streets, customers looking to get in, and he had a pile of blood and bodies smack dab in the middle of the store room.

Panic gripped him. The only thing worse then mobsters coming into his store or apartment in the middle of the night to murder him, was to have someone call the cops. It would end with the same results, only a much longer, grueling process. It wasnt how poorly he would fair in prison, the big passive fat man that he was, that scared him. It was the known fact the Russians owned the prisons.

The police werent always as inept as they were now. The crack down on the first wave of Russian mobsters was trumpeted as a wide spread success throughout the country, with politicians and police departments patting themselves on the back on live TV every chance they could get. But what law enforcement quickly realized, what Mark could have told them for free, was that Russian's were harsh, cruel individuals, and American prisons didnt even phase them. In fact, some Russians were rumored to take the fall for his associates willingly, not out of honor or obligation but for a change of venue. Once the Russians filled the prisons, the prisons belonged to them, and slowly but surely, the rest of the country followed suit. If Mark was arrested for murdering four Russian mobsters, he could count the days he would survive in prison on one hand.

Mark walked over to the bloody mess in the middle of the store, racking his mind for what he should do next. The pile of bullet riddled corpses overwhelmed him, he didnt even know where to begin. He brought his hands to the sides of his head as the stress began to rise, managing to smear blood over his face and mask. The mask! First things first, he ran to the back room and stuffed the bloody mask into his backpack and zipped it closed. He tried in vain to brush the fingerprints of blood he left over the backpack, before being seized by panic.

He sank into a fetal position, keeping his hands together as not to spread blood and evidence over anything else as he hyperventilated. After several minutes passed his hysterical breathing returned to normal. He was in over his head, far to deep to handle alone. He needed to call someone.

As he made his way to the phone, the thought of calling Corey briefly flashed into his mind. He scoffed and laughed bitterly. _"Hey Corey, been thinking of you._ _W_ _anna help me bury some bodies?"_ He was sure that would go over well… Corey deserved better then to be dragged into something like this. Mark thought of calling his relatives, but he quickly dismissed that thought. He would rather die in prison.

He stood there, dumbfounded, as he stared at the phone. The only other name that came to mind was Ron, and he wouldnt be answering his phone anytime soon. The crusty old man probably wouldnt have helped Mark himself, but he might have pointed him in the right direction. Ron of all people knew how much of a blight the Russian crime was to this country. He let anyone know who asked.

He gritted his teeth and fought back tears. "Stop it… you fucking bitch. You keep that shit inside." He cursed at himself through gritted teeth. Well… there was one other option he had. He looked down to the reloaded MP5 resting on the counter. "No…" Mark whispered. " _N_ _ot that, not yet."_ As he watched the clock on the wall tick down, at his time until daylight slipped away minute by minute, a sudden thought popped into his head. He dismissed it right away at first, but the longer he stared at his alternative, the less and less crazy it seemed.

Mark fumbled into his wallet and pulled out the electronic store card, before flipping it over. He stared at Ash's number, next to the a bloody thumbprint, for a long while. "Eh, why not…?" Mark finally uttered to himself. Any hope, no matter how unlikely or misplaced, was better then the alternatives.


	6. Chapter 6

Ash lounged back in the black leather sofa that doubled as his bed, in his sister's apartment. He scratched himself under his boxer shorts, and wrapped himself tightly in the leopard print blanket. The TV illuminated the dark living room with different hues as the movie changed from scene to scene. He watched the flickering images, absent-mindedly, letting the gun shots and explosions lull him to sleep. A plate and fork, still soiled from the off brand macaroni and cheese and hotdog slices he had for dinner, as well as empty cans of soda and beer littered the end table in front of him. This little area in front of the TV was his home, his solace inside his sisters apartment.

He was not embarrassed at all for imposing on his sister. Truth be told, she begged him to move in with her after he finished his four years at community college. They were always close, as twins tend to be, but she took it to the next level. Any idea of moving from the city, to better himself, was always met with toxic opposition from sis. She wanted her brother close, at hand and at her command. So when Ash returned with his education, deep in college debt, Alex happily opened her home to him, happy that her number two had returned.

Ash didnt mind though, he always found it comforting letting his sister do the thinking for him. While he was the brains of the family, and had the skill and the know how to get things done, he lacked the drive or the vision to do much about it. That's where sis came into play. She had the looks and the attitude to get just about anything she wanted. Fame, wealth, pleasure, none of that was important to her. Deciding how she and her brother lived their life, that was. It was all she seemed to care about. What better a person was there for Ash entrust with the boring little details in life? Where they lived, what they ate, when they shopped, he let Alex worry about all of that.

They were quite a team during the Hawaiian conflict, she was fearless, driven, and he would die to protect his sister and commander. When Blondie, or Jacket as the media dubbed him, started showing up all over the news, he was all sis talked about. It was then she had the idea to create their alter egos, The Killer Swans. It was also her idea, to show up, in full costume, to the courthouse to protest the outcome of Jacket's trial, whatever it should be. Ash was hoping he would be able to talk her out of it, or at least some kind of compromise, especially if they planned on acting on their impulses.

Jacket's trial had ignited something in Alex. Or rather, it raised something up into the surface. Ash had always suspected there was something off about his dear sister, even at an early age. He remembered himself as a boy wondering if it was weird that they preformed an autopsy on the neighbors cat. The brilliant Doctor Alex determined that the cat had died from rat poison. Ash already knew that, since she had encouraged him to put it there the night before. Still, he could have resisted her, but he didnt. He didnt even try, he didnt want to resist her.

He heard the door to his sisters room open, and turned his head to see her stumble towards the kitchen, smacking her lips. She had donned a pair of jeans before emerging from her room, and from the sounds of clangs and shuffling that soon came from the kitchen, Ash could tell she was looking for something to munch on. Ash flipped off the TV, and pulled on his jeans before heading to the kitchen.

Alex cast him a smoldering look when he entered, and threw a hand up. He understood she was inquiring about the lack of salty snack food in the shelves. Ash shook his head, giving her a look of regret. Alex sighed and gave him a forgiving nod. She pulled a can of tomato soup from the cupboards and showed it to him, giving it a little shake by rotating her wrist. Ash nodded.

He smiled softly to himself as she pulled a second can from the cupboard. Alex had decided they were playing another game. Ash knew the rules. No talking until she broke the silence first. Ash sat down at the small kitchen table as Alex poured the cans of soup into the pot, stirring it with a wooden spoon. She was doing her best to appear the part as the busy homemaker, as if the canned soup was some labor of love for her brother. In truth, Alex as far from a homemaker as Ash was, if her disaster of a bedroom was any indication… that and their shared affinity for narcotics.

This was all part of the game. If Ash gave her his obedience, she would treat him to whatever random acts of kindness that was in her power. Ash was content enough to played along, he knew she wouldnt mistreat him anymore then she would mistreat herself. They were one after all.

The phone rang, and as soon as it did, Ash gave Alex a questioning look. Alex bit her lip and pretended to give it deep thought before smiling and shaking her head no. Ash waited patiently for his soup, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the kitchen table. His sis shot him an annoyed look to stop, but Ash protested, raising his hands to the side. Alex huffed and relented, giving a reluctant nod.

Ash happily continued his tapping, waiting for the answering machine to catch the call. "Hey its Alex and Ash, you know what to do." Alex's voice from the answering machine said, followed by a beep. "Hey It's Mark…" When Mark's voice came from the machine, Alex and Ash looked at one another with sudden interest.

Ash listened intently. If it wasnt for the ragged breaths into the receiver, he would have wondered if the big was still there. "You still need a job? I have a job for you… its a big job, important job. I'll give you… one thousand dollars if you help me…" Ash raised his brow and looked back at his sister. She had turned to him at the same time. It wasnt the money that surprised them, but the desperation in his voice. Ash looked to the phone and raised a questioning brow, reaching towards it. Alex shook her head firmly, waving him away. "I'm in deep… I… call me back on this number as soon as you can, the number is…"

Ash shook his head in disbelief. Whatever mess he managed to land himself in, it had shaken the big man to his core. He looked to his sister who didnt return his gaze. She was staring at the phone, her eyes narrowed with intent. Mark hesitated on the line for another minute, before finally hanging up. Ash watched his sister carefully, waiting for her to determine the next course of action. She turned to him, her face carefully expressionless. "You better call him back."

Alex waited impatiently, as her brother held the receiver held to his ear. Though she could have simply moved closer to hold her ear next to the receiver, it was more fun to watch her number two do recon for her. Ash's eyes lit up as he Mark must have greeted him on the other end of the phone. "Yea hey! I got your message… yea. ...Yea?" Ash shot Alex a strange look. She bit her bottom lip and shifted anxiously. Ash listened for awhile, his face slowly changing into an expressionless mask. Whatever it was Mark was saying to him, she had a feeling it was going to be good. Alex tried to get Ash's attention but he waved her away. She huffed through her nostrils and pouted, tapping her foot impatiently.

"S-so… say that again." Ash said, glancing at Alex briefly, before looking back ahead. Alex never had so much difficulty reading her brother before, but his lack of expressions were throwing her off. His usual, wise cracking, smooth talking demeanor had vanished. "Ok… yea I heard you. You cant go to the police?" Alex's jaw dropped. Police? She began to fidget from foot to foot as her curiosity burned inside her. Ash ignored her. "Right… yea… you know your asking a lot… naw naw, its not about that. Ill have to ask my sister. Yea I have too… no thats not happening, hey look you asked me for help didnt you? Then shut up… shut up ok? Right… ok I'll call you back." Ash hung up the phone and slowly turned to Alex. "So?" Ash hesitated, forming the words carefully in his head. "We're going to need your saw."

# # #

Mark felt like sobbing in relief when he hung up. He gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his emotions from spilling out. He had no idea what possessed Ash to agree to help him. If the situation was reversed, he was almost certain he would have left Ash high and dry with little more then a "Good luck with that." Still, Ash had agreed to help, which meant Mark wasn't doomed just yet. All it would cost him is his life savings, which he would eagerly give. What good is a savings account when your bleeding out in a prison shower?

Still… Ash was bringing Alex along with him. He didnt want to be ungrateful, but she wasnt what Mark would call "Dependable" she was what he would call a "Psychotic bitch". With a war going on, and with only a few brief exchanges, Alex managed to creep Mark out. It wasnt how she acted when the bullets were flying, but how she acted outside of combat. The way she had her brother aid her in her morbid adventures, having him take pictures of her, laying next to mutilated Russians in playful poses… it was unholy, plain and simple. There was clearly something wrong with her, something that preceded the war. Still, at least she wasnt afraid to get her hands dirty, and an extra pair of soiled hands was exactly what Mark needed right now.

He waited for what felt like an eternity. He checked the clock again, it was forty past one. He had some time before sun rise. If it was enough time to mop the blood off the floor and walls, and dispose of the bodies… he'd have to wait and see. He glanced at the bloody mess before him reluctantly. "You can't go to the police?" Ash had asked him. Mark had stared at the severed head he had dropped near the body of the large Russian enforcer. Even if there was a way to get off with a slap on the wrist, to plead self defense, the decapitated body would make this a hard plea to sell. He was looking at hard time, and as he already knew, hard time was a death sentence.

Mark saw the headlights from Ash's van from behind the bullet riddled windows. He perked up so quickly he nearly tweaked his back in the process. He waited for what felt like a half hour, but Ash or Alex never left the van. Mark did his best to avoid panicking when the van sped off. He waited, his eyes tightly closed, hoping, praying Ash had not changed his mind and abandoned him.

Nearly an hour had passed, before the van finally returned. Mark walked to the front door and watched the twins through the windows. They were unloading large sheets of plywood from the back. Mark briefly thought to go out and help them unload out of obligation, but realized his clothing was still covered in blood. When they came to the front door, he took a deep breath, and swung it open for them.

Ash blinked and shook his head in disbelief. "Sorry, for making you wait… had to drop by the hardware store so we could board up these windows..." Ash said, trying to play off his shock at the sight of the massacre. Mark averted his eyes to the concrete tile floor in shame. When Alex made her way through the door she audibly gasped. Mark winced and watched her with a pained expression. Alex, creepy scary Alex, had her jaw dropped in surprise.

The twins set the boards down against the wall, and still Alex stared, lips apart, at the bloody mess Mark had made. Mark felt like crawling out of his skin. He opened his mouth, feeling he had to make up some excuse to how he had lost control. Before he could explain how he wasnt some kind of maniac, Alex turned to him. The look of admiration in her eyes sent shivers down his spine. "Oh… Mark..." She whispered.

It took Ash and Alex several trips to bring in all the items from the van. Among the pile Mark spotted a hammer and nails, a large container of liquid soap, an eight pack of paper towels, some plastic ponchos, three pairs of large rain boots, a box of blue rubber gloves, and a box of black garbage bags. Last but not least Alex brought in what she called her "little friend" a small gas powered chainsaw. Mark briefly wondered why the woman owned a saw but he quickly pushed the questions from his mind. He didnt want to know.

Alex looked down at Mark's clothes before asking for his wallet. Mark didnt bother questioning things. He fished out his wallet and slapped it in her palm. She pulled the hundred and forty bucks from his wallet and tossed it back before going back out to the van. That left Mark and Ash to put up the boards over the windows, nailing them into place.

Mark worked in silence. Thankfully, so did Ash, though the young man seemed a bit overly preoccupied with his work. Mark couldnt blame him for avoiding conversation. He didnt know what he'd say in his place. When the last board was put up, Ash finally turned to Mark. "That should keep the prying eyes from the streets off of your… handy work." Ash said with the delicacy of an enraged rhino. Mark flinched and nodded his head silently as Ash looked him up and down. He was probably staring at the blood stains that covered his clothing and vest. He had washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink but his clothing was still hopelessly stained. "Thanks… I owe you one…" Mark mumbled. Ash gave him an incredulous look. "Yea, you do."

Alex returned, with an unnerving skip to her step, and a bright smile on her face. In one hand she held a shopping bag and in the other a thermos. She handed the thermos to Mark first. "Here, drink up big guy." She said, surprisingly pleasant. Mark took the thermos from her timidly and opened it up, taking a sip. The taste of warm tomato soup entered his mouth, so he kept drinking. Alex just watched him as he drank it down. "After we clean this mess up, I bought you a new change of clothes." She rested the bag containing what looked to be a large Hawaiian shirt and sweat pants behind one of the display cases. "Thanks Alex..." Mark said weakly. Alex just shrugged nonchalantly. "You'll make it up to us." She said. The certainty in her voice worried Mark.

The three of them stood over the pile of blood and carnage, clad from head to toe in plastic and rubber. They stared at Mark's "Handy work" silently for awhile before Mark and Ash lifted one of the Russians by his legs. Mark winced as Alex pulled the pull string, bringing the revving the engine to life with a wicked grin. She noticed Mark's squeamish look. "What? You're acting like you've never seen a dead body before…" Alex said with a wink. Mark looked back down to the body and lifted the dead mobsters leg by his stingray skinned cowboy boot. "Hold it there, and Id look away…" Alex said, revving the engine of the saw, before bringing the swirling, angry chain down onto the lifted leg. He closed his eyes tightly and looked away, as he felt the spray of blood hit him in the side of the face. Soon, he held a severed limb, which he quickly stuffed into one of the black garbage bags.

Mark stared down black garbage bags sitting on the tile floor. You couldnt tell just by looking, but inside was all that remained of the would be buglers. Alex snapped her fingers in front of his face to wake him from his daze. "Hey you listening big guy? Now for the fun part… mopping and wiping. Get to it, we dont got all night…" Alex said. Her pleasantness had quickly deteriorating as the night went on. "Yea I got it..." Mark muttered, grabbing a mop.

They worked for hours, mopping the blood, wiping the droplets from the sides of the display cases and scrubbing the blood stained walls with soapy paper towels. Mark checked the clock, it was fifteen passed three, and they were making good progress. He might just get away with this after all. Mark scrubbed a display case, on his hands and knees, while Ash did the same on the other end of the store. Alex left to empty the blood and soap filled water down the sink, but hadnt returned. That was just as well to Mark. The woman's work ethics werent exactly stellar and the two of them made more progress without her. Still, the longer Alex wasnt in sight, the more he worried what the creepy blonde was getting into.

He stood up suddenly and declared "I have to hit the can." to Ash, who didnt even look up from his work. Mark went to the back room, and glanced towards the restroom. There was the bucket, but no Alex. Mark's stomach twisted when he realized where she must be. He walked into the storeroom, where he found Alex, watching the security monitor with a look of awe upon her face.

Mark slowly approached. He turned his head towards the direction of Alex's eyes. It was just as he feared. She was watching the security footage. He grit his teeth, as he watched his blurry image stomp, then tear the Russian strongman's head from his shoulders. He hadnt seen this tape, truth be told he forgot he put it in. Alex watched with baited breath, waiting for the moment when Mark dropped the Russian's head before hitting rewind on the VCR, back to the point where the Russian mobsters were robbing the store.

Mark watched Alex, with a pained expression. "How many times have you watched this…?" Mark asked. Instead of answering she turned to him with new found reverence. "I'm so sorry…" She said softly. Mark blinked. "Why?" Alex turned back towards the TV monitor and watched the recording of Mark appearing in the lower left of the screen, guns blazing. "I always thought you were nothing, not even worth getting to know. I didnt see you… the real you." Alex said, the sincerity in her voice, in her eyes made Mark's entire body flinch.

"This is not who I am…" Mark said firmly. Alex blinked and pointed at the screen. Mark didnt turn his head, he knew what was on the tape. "Who are you trying to fool?" Alex said in response. Mark thought long and hard on her words, before leaving her, to get back to work. Behind him, he could hear her rewinding the tape.

It was a little passed four thirty, the store looked like a tornado ransacked it, but no signs of blood or bodies were left. Only piles of black garbage bags stuffed with evidence were left. Alex had rolled up a blunt and was having a celebratory toke. Mark reached over and snatched it from her before taking a long draw of his own. She watched him inhale then cough, his lungs unused to inhaling smoke. After the twins passed the blunt back and forth between themselves for a few minutes, Mark finally gathered the nerve to ask "Whats next?" Ash looked up, unconcerned. "We go for a drive."

Mark sat in the back seat of the van with the piles of black garbage besides his legs and feet. He should have been concerned that the twins seem to know exactly what their doing, but he was far to grateful and exhausted to entertain much thought. Whatever sick shit they may or may not have done, its helping him stay out of prison, and thats what matters.

They drove for what felt like hours, until stopping near some dark alley. "This one, that dumpster there." Alex said, pointing at a back alley dumpster. Mark obeyed, doing so as quickly as he could, before scampering back into the van. They did this several more times, spreading the bags all around Miami. At the last dumpster, he grabbed the last two bags left in the van. A bag of bloody paper towels, and the severed head of a certain Russian enforcer, was sitting next to the bag with his vest, backpack, mask and the rest of his clothing he wore during the spree. He grabbed both bags at the next designated dumpster stop, but Alex threw out her hand. "No! Dont throw out that one…" Mark blinked, looking down at the bag with his clothing and mask. "You can wash them… its fine." Alex insisted. Mark opened his mouth to argue, but the somber look in her eyes deflated any desire to argue left in him. He left the bag with his soiled clothing in the van as he made the last dumpster drop off.

They were done, and Mark didnt ask where they were driving him next. He was so exhausted he could pass out right there in the van. "Tell him..." Alex said to Ash in the front seat. Mark shook himself fully awake. "You know Mark… what we did tonight, it wont be enough." Ash said delicately, glancing back at the rear view mirror at Mark. He narrowed his eyes before answering. "What do you mean?" Ash shrugged. "I mean, you killed some people, you got rid of the bodies… now what?" Ash said. Mark blinked, perplexed. "So I stay out of prison, thats what." Alex smirked back at Mark and shook her head. "It wont be enough…" She cooed. Mark snarled back at her, growing very annoyed. "Look… I've had a long night, I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep, can you get to the point please…?" Mark whined. Alex rolled her eyes, before Ash answered Mark's question.

"We're saying, you dont think the rest of them, the ones who they collect for, wont notice he's missing?" Ash said smugly. Mark felt a flair of anger mixed with desperation inside of him. "Your talking shit, their a bunch of thugs." Mark said, wanting to believe it more then anything. Alex clicked her tongue at that. "Tsk tsk tsk, I wouldnt underestimate them if I were you… they're organized. Tell him Ash." Mark looked to the rear view mirror desperately for confirmation. "Word on the street is, a new heavy hitter is in town… he wont like it when his collectors turn up missing."

Mark couldnt believe what they were saying, he refused too. "I'm tired, I can't talk about this shit right now. Just get me home please…" Mark begged. Alex snorted at that. "You still have to pay us back, remember." Mark nodded grimly. "Stop by an ATM, and Ill get you your money..." Mark said weakly. The sooner they were paid, the sooner they were square, and the sooner he could sleep and sleep, to try and put this day behind him.

Alex smiled as she glanced at Ash, who gave her a quick look before looking back towards the road. Mark braced himself for whatever she had to say as she turned her attention back to him. "We dont want your money Mark." She said matter of fact. Mark felt a creeping fear in his gut, but he had to ask anyway. "What do you want..?" Mark asked. Alex smiled softly, before reaching out, opening the bag full of bloodied evidence. She lifted his bloody bear mask from the bag and held it up. "We want you to help us kill."


	7. Chapter 7 Rise of Roman

Roman took a seat in the decadently furnished lobby within the bosses hideout. There he was made to waited. A year ago nothing got done without his involvement. He had the respect of the entire Russian family here in Miami. Now, he waited for his turn to speak with the new boss, as if he were nothing more then a common earner. The insult couldnt be any clearer, if the boss came down from his pent house and personally spat in his face.

How the times have changed in a handful of years. He was on his way to owning this town. That was before… Roman steeled his thoughts. " _No matter. Nothing in life worth having comes easily."_ Roman reminded himself. He had survived, and the ability to keep fighting is victory onto itself. The current boss was only prolonging the inevitable.

Roman lounged back in the massive wrap-around sofa, doing his best to hide his contempt for his mistreatment. He knew his weathered face, and dark disposition made him appear older and gloomier then he truly was, so his scowling would be overlooked. He adjusted the buttons of his vest that he wore over his black shirt. They, and his shiny black dress shoes, differentiated him from the other Russian mobsters in their all but matching white suits… But he was already differentiated from them. Suffice it to say, his real name was not Roman the Romanian, it was Ivan, but he would always be Roman from Romania to them.

His eyes drifted around the outrageous décor of the boss's place. Over the top, unnecessarily eye catching. His taste in decoration matched the way he ran his father's criminal empire. His father knew how to run a business. He was brutal, ruthless and without pity, but he was also a man of order, and integrity. He knew how to treat those who were assets, and destroyed anyone who wasnt.

He could have easily left Roman in the back of the truck with the rest of his counterfeiting crew, but he saw something in him. He gave Roman a chance. Roman would like to think he rewarded The Father's confidence ten fold, becoming first a brutal enforcer, and then his top earner.

Roman's eyes drifted to the dark skinned mobster standing by the door of the lobby, with his arms clasped in front of his body like some kind of secret service agent. He wore the Russian mobster "uniform" a white blazer and pants, and at first glance wouldnt look much different from any other of The Son's lackeys. But under that calm, professional gaze and his clean shaved head, lurked one of the most dangerous killers in the world.

A legend amongst the Russian mafia. Nobody knows where the The Father found him, but his work in the cleaning business was infamous. His calling card was killing everyone in a building, without alerting a soul, and without witnesses. The man was a ghost, silent, professional and methodical. He used a silenced 9mm pistol, and when he had jobs with more victims then he had bullets, he used lamps, pens, pencils, golf clubs, skateboards, anything he found lying around the building, he would use it as a weapon to finish the job.

The world's top hitman now he stood in Roman's way, flanking the door, like a motionless gargoyle perched to block his path. Instead of having him out and plying his trade, The Son made an efficient tool his bodyguard, only sending him to work for on specialized jobs.

He met the bodyguards unnervingly neutral gaze with a fearless look. He wouldnt let The Son's "boogy man" frighten him. He would not let a man who a year ago, was his equal in the family, become his superior. He had worked with the bodyguard several times, and while he admired the man's grace and skill, he did not fear him. He had one thing the bodyguard would never have. Ambition, and the will to see it through. The bodyguard was the best triggerman in the business, but he was still just a trigger.

Without vision, without drive, skills were meaningless. People with minds like the bodyguard's were useful when it came to solving a problem. But ask the same man what play to make so the problem never existed in the first place, and you'd just be wasting your time. The triggerman was the one who solved problems. Roman was a planner, someone who created enterprise for the family.

At least he did, until the Colombians moved in on the Russian's territory. That was another reason why he did not fear the boss's henchman, he could see something no one else did. A crack. A weakness behind his professional facade. It was the henchman's fault they lost the territory in the first place, as far as Roman saw it. If the boss's father was still alive, the Colombians wouldnt have sensed weakness.

They seized the opportunity to hit them, while they were still reeling from the animal mask attacks. It was the henchman's job, to find their bloodthirsty ringleader, Jacket, before he found them. But Jacket found them first. Again and again, wherever Jacket showed up, everybody died.

What's more, while Roman and the henchmen were still sifting for clues and breaking legs for any information they could dig up on that animal, Jacket, came into The Father's own building and killed them all. He even killed the patron of the family, a defenseless, wheel chair bound geriatric by putting a bullet in his head.

Roman knew if the henchmen had completed his job, the family would never be where it was today. Roman smiled to himself, as he recalled the subtle ways he let the henchman know this. Tiny implications and half remarks, just enough to twist the knife, to plant the seed of an idea that was already there.

With many little strokes a large tree is felled, and so, doubt and failure had weakened the henchman's resolve, and Roman was probably the only one who knew it. Still, the henchman was still a threat, in many ways now more then ever. From what little he could glean from the rest of the mobsters, he learned the henchman had been poisoning the water for Roman.

The repulsive drone probably sensed Roman's ambition, something a simple trigger could never have, and did his best to make sure he did not succeed. After The Father's passing, The Son took the henchman to his side like a surrogate brother, perhaps more accurately, like some relic of his father's past. This would work to Roman's favor in the long run. Being around The Son would further drive the guilt of the his failures into the henchman's mind, but for now, the boss's closest confidant was turning The Son's mind against Roman.

A muffled scream rang out from somewhere in the building, no doubt originating from The Son's room. Roman's body tensed, and for a brief moment he felt fear claw its way into his heart before forcing it from his body, like the wretched poison it was. He had trained and molded his body and mind since he was a young man, for there was no greater control then over oneself. He recited the Japanese proverb in his mind. " _Work of self, obtainment of self."_

He would not let doubt weaken his resolve. However, Roman couldnt allow himself to ignore the possibility that the henchman's forked tongue may have painted him as a threat to The Son's rule. He wasn't given a new market to corner or operation to run since he lost his turf at the hands of the Colombians. He had fallen out of favor, that much was clear… but just how far?

Roman steeled himself and walked from the red leather couch to face the awaiting henchman. The henchman narrowed his eyes slightly, before Roman spoke. "My time is money. The kind of money I bring to the family is not something you should keep waiting." Roman's face was confident mask as the henchman studied. "Its your ass." Was all he had to say before opening the door for Roman. Much to his displeasure, the henchman followed him through the long wrap around hallway to the boss's room. He strained his hearing, listening for more of the blood curdling screams. It was faint but he picked up the sounds of muffled sobs coming from the room.

When they arrived at the door, the henchman flanked Roman and reached his hand out to the door latch. He turned to Roman once again. "You sure about this?" The henchman asked. Roman didnt like the atmosphere surrounding his visit, but he had come to far to back down now. "Open the door." He commanded.

Roman couldnt help but flinch as he saw a spurt of blood gush from the sword wound across the chest of a man chained from the ceiling by his wrists. Roman had walked into the of an interrogation. After quickly scanning the bound victim, he realized it was nothing so productive. That The Son was torturing him for tortues sake, by taking cuts out of him with a katana, a Japanese sword.

The Son screamed with masculine exubrance as he swung the katana through the hair, slicing another superficial, but painful cut across the bound man's abdomen. "I almost got you that time. A little deeper and we'd be swimming in your guts." The Son said as he playfully spun the katana in his hands.

Roman watched the man struggle and squirm against the chains like a worm on a hook. A sock or rag had been stuffed into his mouth. Roman took the sadistic distraction to carefully survey the rest of the room. Three other mobster watched their boss as he worked. He studied their faces. Their expressions were a mixture of amusement and terror. While he could see some benefit for the young boss to behave this way, it **is** safer to be feared then liked by your men after all, still the crude barbarism of it all disgusted Roman.

Roman was not a fan of The Son's way of business in general. It was as if The Son had somehow read his mind, gleaned every procedure, rule and strategy Roman had to offer… and chose to do the exact opposite in all regards.

Roman watched the tall, burly man. He took the time to study his foe. He knew the young boss was reckless… if you could even call it that. There would have to create a whole new word to properly describe his actions. Ever since his father died, something sparked within him. He did not fear death, he flirted with it, he courted it. No stake was to high, no risk to great, no thrill to costly, and against all odds, he was somehow still alive.

As much as Roman hated the man, he begrudgingly acknowledged that for a man to live life as The Son does and to remain in control of a criminal empire for so long… he either had the devils luck or his cunning. Either way, Roman knew it would be a fatal flaw to underestimate him.

The henchman waited at the doorway as Roman approached The Son from behind. The Son didnt notice him, or was pretending not to. He raised his katana above his head in a high guard. Roman was mildly impressed. The Son had some training in kenjutsu, Japanese swordmanship, something he didnt think a barbarian like him would be capable of. "Last chance TJ." The Son said, before one of the mobster moved to the bound thugs side, removing his gag. "Wait, wait! Please, dont do this!" Was all that escaped the thugs lips. "Goodbye TJ." The Son said in response before letting out a battle cry. He swung the katana with both hands in a powerful horizontal cut. The mobster barely had time to move out of the way to avoid being slashed himself, as the powerful blow from the Japanese blade sliced through the bound man's waist and spine, stopping a few inches short of completely cutting him in half. With an angry flick of the blade, he severed the final strands of flesh and muscle, letting the bound man's lower half fall to the floor to meet his blood and visera that had already slid from the dying man's body. Roman watched the look of shock wash over the thugs face, before it relaxed and the light behind his eyes fading away.

"A sound strike, almost perfect." Roman interjected. The tower of a man stiffened ever so slightly, turning his head to gaze over his shoulder at him. His eyes were mostly veiled by his strings of dark, shoulder length hair that hung from his head like black shiny tentacles covered in sweat. "Almost huh?" The Son said in an oddly dejected tone. Roman shrugged before nodding. "Almost."

The Son laughed maniacally, waving his hand to dismiss Roman's words as he turned around. Roman faced The Son for the first time in many months. His vibrant green eyes were no less penetrating, through the watery glaze of whatever designer drug he was on at the time. The massive, twisted scars covered his cheek like a gnarled vine, made his left eye remain partly open each time he blinked. His broad shoulders and hulking frame barely fit in his tight fitting white suit that he wore like the rest of the Russian mobsters.

His hands, tightened their grip on his sword, as his piercing gaze burrowed into Roman. "Maybe you'd like to show me how its done, yea?" The Son smiled fiercely, before turning to walk to the wall he had painted like a giant USSR flag. The wall where he had his massive weapon rack, filled to bursting with AK model rifles and other various rifles, pistols and submachine guns.

He pulled a second katana hanging criss cross against the empty scabbard belonging to the sword in his hand and threw it at Roman. Roman's eyes widened as the sword flew towards him, handle first, but managed to catch it from the air, swinging the blade up and inspecting its craftsmanship. It wasnt a terrible sword. Whoever did the big ape's shopping for him, had an eye for quality.

He glanced at the half severed corpse, still swaying side to side gently, from the killing blow The Son had dealt him. "No, not on that piece of meat, right here. Here is your target." The Son said with a wild grin. Roman's stomach churned as he watched the mob boss posture in front of him, and the rest of his men peaked their interest from the sidelines. They watched with morbid curiosity, looking back and forth between the two men.

The Son unbuttoned his shirt a few buttons, before simply tearing it open the rest of the way, sending the buttons bouncing across the floor. He stood there with his muscular chest exposed for Roman, while his eyes issued a manic challenge. When Roman hesitated, The Son stepped foreword suddenly, bringing the katana high above his head. Roman took a low stance, controlling his flared emotions by releasing calm, disciplined breath from his nostrils. He met the big apes wild gaze with a stern, intense look of his own.

No sooner then he moved to defend himself, something stirr within The Son's eyes. As Roman steeled himself for whatever erratic game or impulse The Son was planning to spring on him, he felt his body tense and tremble, at the aura behind The Son's gaze. Roman prided himself on his ability to read people, to see their thoughts and emotions, but as he looked into The Son's eyes, he saw something he could not comprehend. A burning passion, a wild, uncontrollable urge to conquer. It was unlike anything Roman had ever witnessed before.

In every way Roman was different from the henchman, The Son was different from Roman. Roman only thought he knew what ambition was, until he looked into the eyes of The Son. He was wild and untethered, a beast with untold power, waiting to explode without warning.

" _No."_ Roman thought. It wasnt ambition that drove The Son, it was something else. " _What was it?"_ What could drive a man to live his life on the edge, to court both chaos and death with such fervor? Roman had no answers, he only knew The Son was far more complicated then he originally predicted and he was standing toe to toe with him, and within swords reach.

He broke his gaze from The Son, unable to maintain his consuming glare. He had miscalculated. He meant to show The Son he was competent and unafraid, someone worthy of respect. In doing so he wound up challenging the man. He didnt blame himself, The Son was erratic, he heard and saw what he wanted to.

Regardless, he was in a position he was never intended to be in. A position where he had only losing moves to make. Ironically he had fantasized about this moment in the past. To have The Son within swords reach. To somehow goad the barbarian king into a friendly duel of skill and finesse. He was sure he could defeat a man like this, or at least he was until he saw the mettle of the man up close.

If The Son took that powerful overhead swing that Roman could feel the brute's body aching to deliver, Roman would step to the side and bring the sword up from his low stance, across The Sons stomach. A text book maneuver and an age old lesson that skill will defeat brutality every time. But what then? Before he could even turn his head, the henchman would put a bullet in his temple. The rest of the mobsters he could deal with, they were just sheep. He was almost certain they would follow him without question if they saw him fell the brute, but the henchman… he was loyal. He would kill Roman out of principle.

There was a second option of course. He could put his sword down and grovel like a lowly rube. Beg The Son's forgiveness, and bow before him. Not only was that as hateful an option as dying, but he predicted it was almost as likely end with in his demise. The Son would see his weakness as an opening for the killing blow, an invitation to dominate and take his life. If the situation were ever reversed, Roman would savor such a victory.

"Hey boss, um its getting kinda tense in here isnt it? Why dont you two use those keno sticks you bought… instead of cutting each other to pieces?" The henchman said from the side. Roman blinked. The henchman had given him a way out. He studied The Son's reaction very carefully. His inferno like gaze melted into a playful energy, as he smiled broadly. He let out a hardy laugh.

"You worry to much. I'm the boss, I know how to take care of myself." The Son said with a chuckle. Roman hoped to retain his calm, collected appearance, as he lowered his sword. "Its pronounced, kendo sticks, for the record." Roman said. The henchman didnt respond, he simply watched Roman uneasily. The Son walked foreword and took the katana from Roman's hand, before turning to replace them on his weapons rack. "Someone clean this shit up, we got work to do here!" The Son said, gesturing to the two halves of the corpse.

Roman followed The Son to the glass table surrounding the large L shaped leather sofa as cleaning girls wearing skimpy French maid aprons pranced towards the corpse to clean it up. The Son sat at the sofa, lounging back with his arms out over the back of the sofa. Roman chose to sit on the other end of the L, the closest thing to facing the Russian boss on his impractical furniture. The Son watched the maids as they worked with a hungry gaze. Roman followed his gaze and saw the flash of the cleaning girls asses under their short skirts of their ridiculous outfits.

"Lets make this quick. Nothing gets me hard like watching some babes on their hands and knees cleaning up blood." Roman hesitated before answering. He felt a small pang of sympathy for the dozens of sluts The Son had at his beck and call. It must be a full time job to keep up with this man's sexual apatite. "Indeed… we're here to talk business." Roman said. The Son laughed at this. "Indeed… indeed! Hah! You always talk like a businessman or something. You know that?" The Son said with a sneer. Roman wasnt sure if he was supposed to take that as an insult or not.

The Son waved his hand, and a mobster came from the back room, with a large duffle bag filled with rattling containers. When the mobster threw it onto the glass table, The Son quickly unzipped it open and turned it to the side, pouring half of its contents onto the table. The contents that spilled out were blank prescription pill bottles, filled with colorful pill capsules.

"Here's our… "business" as you say… It's the new product, and it is sweet…" The Son said with a flourish, kissing his fingertips before opening his hand in a dramatic way. The Son was no doubt speaking from experience. Roman nodded proudly before replying. "Designer drugs. Cheap, powerful stimulants and narcotics, made right here in the city. I was the one who suggested to your father, we should move into widespread production as soon as possible. I'd like to think that he…"

Roman stopped as The Son's laughter interrupted his line of thought. "This guy, he's a funny guy isnt he? Isnt he!?" He said to his men with a playful, yet sinister tone. The rest of the mobsters, including the henchman nodded. He turned his playful but dangerous gaze back to Roman. "He would take credit for my fathers work, now that he isnt here to say otherwise…" The Son said, the tone of his voice growing cold. Roman steeled himself. He had no way of predicting what would set off the Russian madman. The situation was as infuriating to Roman as it was dangerous.

The Son finally lightened his gaze and went back to the bag, patting it affectionately. "I will give you, one of these… every month. Thats your "business" now." The Son said. Roman furrowed his brow. "I am a businessman. I was a club owner, I ran a legitimate business for your father, and laundered millions of his dollars. I'm not a petty drug dealer…" Roman said firmly.

The indignation The Son was showing him was to much, he couldnt hide his contempt for the man much longer. The Son sneered back at him. "You're not a businessman, you're not a man at all. You're a snake." The Son said, meeting Roman's indignant look with one of dangerous hostility. Roman didnt relent this time. He glared back at The Son as he finished his tirade.

"Just because I wasnt running the show when my father was alive, doesnt mean I wasn't paying attention. You threw anyone who got in your way under the bus, and you didnt even have the guts to look them in the eye when you did it. You always had someone else cut their throats." Roman racked his mind.

The Son was not wrong. He had several people killed to keep business running smoothly. When some incompetent goon was given a piece of the pie he could hardly manage, he was more then happy to relieve them of their responsibilities, after relieving them of their lives of course. Roman considered such actions a service to the family. Taking the potential profit from those who would squander it, and instead have the racket grow under his management.

He just didnt know what throat he had slit that was important enough for the Russian tyrant to throw it back in his face like this. "So if you want to get back to owning clubs and washing money… go back to the streets where you came from and prove yourself." The Son said with a final sneer.

To add insult to injury, The Son kicked the bag full of pills from the table, unto the floor in front of Roman. Everyone in the room, including the scantily clad cleaning girls, turned to watch Roman to see how he'd react. Even Roman himself wasnt sure what he would do, but in the end, what could he do?

Roman eventually stood up from the sofa, adjusted his black vest, before kneeling down to scoop the bottles of pills into the bag in silence. He could tell The Son was smirking at him, jeering at him, but he didnt look up from the bag. The room was silent as he meticulously placed every bottle into the bag, zipped it closed and took it with him as he walked from the table. As he was about to leave the room, The Son's voice came from behind. "Dont even bother coming back, without a bag full of cash." Roman turned his head slightly, but did not look back at the man. "I won't."

Roman meditated in the back of his black Mercedes-Benz. He felt his eyelids tremble with rage, his hands calmly placed against his lap, beginning to tighten into fists. He centered himself, and tried to push through it. Flashes of The Son's sneering face caused a spike of fury to rise in his chest. He pushed it back down. The challenging look from The Son, the feeling of his aura overwhelming him sent fear down his spine. He let it go. He was bruised, he was insulted, but he was alive, and as long as he still drew breath, he still had moves to make. He felt the familiar ambitions begin to rise within him, replacing the anger and wounded pride with added drive and purpose.

His eyes snapped open and he reached for the car phone in the back of the Benz. He pressed firmly on the large rubber buttons on the back of the phone before placing it to his ear. One of his Russian goons answered. "Yea?" Roman spoke quickly, purposefully. "Gather the men, we have work to do. Have Stefan put the word out on the street, that the Russians are sitting on a mountain of product, and their looking for dealers." "You got it boss, anything else?" Roman's eyes narrowed as he recalled the face of Dio, the hood rat dealing dope in his territory.

"Put some men to watch the car lot where that black bastard shovels his shit. Tell them to stay in the open, I want him to know that their there." Roman waited to let the goon process his instructions. He knew from experience, it was unwise to overestimate the thinking powers of his minions. "Have Viktor bring "The Negotiator" in the van, I'll have need of them both before the week is out." Roman said.

"Um… Viktor is still a no show." The goon said. Roman let out a dissatisfied sigh from his nostrils. "Did you check his mistress's house?" "Yea, she hadn't seen him. Neither did his wife." Roman sighed. His patience for his men waning. It was one thing to have his enforcer disappear into a girlfriends lap for a few days, and another thing entirely to miss a drop he had scheduled. Roman would have need of his right hand man for his plan to get into the drug business.

"Put Dimitri on it then." Roman said, letting his irritation bleed out into his voice. "Consider it done. What do you want me to do with the rest of the men though?" Roman cracked a bitter smirk. "Have them do what their best at. Wait around the club but stay alert. We have a meeting with Dio to attend after all." The goon hesitated before responding. "Um… I forgot, did you ask me to get a meet with Dio?" The goon said, Roman could almost hear the rusty gears in the Russian morons head turn. "No, Dio will come to us."

Roman waited patiently in the back office of "The Landing Strip" a seedy men's club that was the new makeshift hideout for him and his crew. After the Colombians took over his territories in the East, his men chose to feed their vices here. The women were trashy, the booze was watered down, and the buffet wasnt that good, but the men in Roman's employment werent exactly connoisseurs.

Still, he did his best to help improve things from time to time, he did not take over the club, rather the owners acknowledged that they had settled in, and much of their clientèle had ran off to safer clubs to satisfy their addictions. Though the truth of the matter was that the "The Landing Strip" had never been safer. Roman told him men to respect the women and establishment, left men to ensure the dealers dope was safe, the women well tended too. Just their presence alone insured any malcontents with chips on their shoulders, would be best to keep them there. Any patron who didnt get the hint that this was a mob club, and mistreated the women or caused problems for the staff, his men escorted them to the back alley for an "attitude adjustment."

Once, one of his own got drunk and forced himself on one of the girls. Roman wouldnt have cared, if he hadnt instructed his men to behave, so he made an example out of him. Before the owners of the club could gather the courage to bring the attention to him, he already sent the the mobster in question's hand, gift wrapped in a jewelry box, to the dancing girls. Roman felt it was a thoughtful touch.

After that, the owners began running all business decisions and management questions by him. He, for intents and purposes, owned the club, just not legally. The owners still made all of the money as well, but Roman didnt want this establishment for its business, he only wanting a building, where he could conduct his business at any time, and no one would interfere.

The dancing girls, the staff, they were to afraid to say or do anything even if they wanted to. And why would they? Roman had all but improved the environment in every conceivable way. The business was steady, the tips were good, and the clients policed themselves. The owners were making more money, and they had less responsibilities. When Roman told them he was taking over the back office, the owners rarely stepped a foot into the building, but conducted most of the business over the phone.

The owners were also unlikely to talk to the police, after witnessing Roman's "present" to make amends to the dancing girls. They knew the police couldnt save them from Roman If they ever turned rat. While is men grumbled and complained behind his back, that he killed one of their own to make a bunch of strippers happy, it was a decision he was glad he made. His men didnt need to like him, they needed to obey him.

The phone is the back office finally rang. He picked up the receiver and placed it under his ear. "Its Roman." "Yo, you trying to unload your shit on my turf? Nothing gets by in Miami without going through me." Said a loud, obstinate voice on the other end of the line. "Dio." "Ya its me, bitch. You better step off, or I'm going to have to hit you where you live. Dont think I dont know where your commie crew go to get their rocks off. Dont think I dont know you're right there with um now. All it takes is a phone call and your deep six, you feel me?" Dio said.

Roman winced, he knew Dio to be a warm blooded man, but the way he spoke… Roman knew everything he had to know about the man. Roman quickly collected his thoughts before articulating his response. He needed to move this shipment, and it made the most logical sense to go through Dio to do it. He had all the connections, and the dealers, the infrastructure all worked out and running like clockwork, from what Roman was told.

He actually admired how far reaching, and efficient the neanderthal's operation was. "I'm not looking for a turf war." Roman said calmly. "Yea? Sling that shit someplace else or you got one." Dio's said. "I'm not looking to become a drug lord either, I have a new product. Pills that makes coke feel like pop rocks. You want to stay high on your throne? Fine, take this "shit" off my hands, and maker yourself richer." Roman said.

"So thats what this all about. Bring your Ruskie ass, and the shit here to the lot, and Ill take a look. Maybe I'll sell it for you, maybe I wont." Dio said. With that the drug kingpin hung up, leaving Roman with his thoughts. He may have talked up the pills to some degree, having only heard of their potent effects, but from how The Son was rumored to be popping them down like pez, he was sure that the drug kingpin wouldnt be disappointed.

Roman followed the his men in the black van on their way to the meet, in the back of his Mercedes-Ben. He meditated the whole drive there, preparing himself, body and mind for what was about to take place. The van stopped in the front of the shady, used car dealership that Dio used as a front for his operation. Roman knew, from his extensive research on the man, that he had an unusual relationship with its owner, some anarchistic right winger with a love of guns and a hatred for Russians and the US Government. He would make a reluctant ally to be sure, but Roman had no intentions of creating his own infrastructure for a drug dealing business, when someone else had already laid down the groundwork.

When his men in the van felt it was safe, they drove foreword into the lot. The used cars were lined up on all sides around them, as Roman's driver followed them in the Benz. The van turned off to the side and parked, unobstructing Roman's view of drug kingpin for the first time.

Dio stood in the back of the lot with the rest of his men. They wore sports jerseys and tracksuits with white strips and enough gold necklaces, watches and rings to stock a jewelry store. Roman waited for his driver to open the door before he stepped out of the Benz. His driver, and bodyguard, was an, stoic man wearing a black suit and cap, large enough to fit his long, wiry frame.

He moved with a grim etherealness, as he silently stepped aside, giving Roman room to pass, his dull gaze remaining low to avoid eye contact. The rest of his men piled out of the front and back doors of the van, forming a human wall of white suits between him and the gangsters. As he slowly approached, his men parted way for him, letting him walk between them.

Dio wore a red track suit, and baggy jeans that hung far to low for Roman's tastes, exposing his bunched up boxer shorts. Other then the fist sized, gold amulet of a globe hanging on his neck, nothing about the man seemed extraordinary. If it wasnt for the hostility on his face, and the reek of self entitlement that hung around him like cheap perfume, he wouldnt have been able to pick him out as the leader of the group.

Roman walked ahead of his men, who stuck close to the van as were their instructions. He approached the dozen or more gangsters calmly. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw several gangsters crouched in between the rows of cars, with small sub machine guns, Mac 10s, held in their hands. He kept walking, giving off no evidence he saw the potential ambush.

Dio glared at Roman as he calmly approached. "Man, I didnt think your Ruskie ass would show." Dio sneered. Roman remained calm and expressionless as he answered. "I'm a businessman, not a drug dealer. I see a potential to make profit, I'll leave handling of the product to you." Dio smirked at his words. "Bla bla bla. You talk some gay ass shit. Do you have the dope or what?" Dio responded.

The amount of insult he was forced to take was beginning to pile up. He didnt often like to get his hands dirty, but when someone disrespected him, he was honor bound to pay them back in blood. Lately though, Roman kept getting dishonored and each time, he was unable to retaliate. If he didnt get retribution soon, he'd end up taking it out on his men, and with what little power and influence he had left, that wasnt a viable option. Still, he had a plan to follow, so he swallowed his pride, for now.

He pulled a small plastic baggy from his vest pocket, containing six or so brightly colored pill capsules and held it up for Dio to see. He snorted back at Roman in response. "What the hell is that?" Roman smiled ever so slightly. "A taste." Roman replied. Dio walked away from his men, swaggering towards Roman aggressively.

He steeled himself. Even though Dio was a simple brute, brutes were aggressive, and at times, unpredictable. Dio pressed his face uncomfortably close to Roman's. He winced and instinctively leaned back, not wanting to give any excuse for the kingpin's ego to want retribution. After several seconds of feeling him out with his eyes, Dio gave Roman a condescending smirk, looking him up and down once more, before taking a step back.

"A taste huh… where's the rest?" Dio said. "In the van, where's the money?" Dio glanced around Roman, at the black van behind the wall of Russian mobsters. Finally, Dio grimaced and jerked his thumb at his entourage of thugs. One of them pulled out a school back pack full of what Roman assumed to be, stacks of one hundred dollar bills. Roman nodded.

"Try the sample, if you approve, Ill bring the rest of the product." Dio nodded, grinning like a smart ass. "Yea, thats a good idea, yea… but how bout this? You try the product? Whatchu think about that?" Roman's body stiffened, and no sooner than it did, Dio snapped his fingers at him. Two of his thugs grabbed him roughly and jerked him closer to Dio. He heard cursing in Russian in the distance, so he quickly threw a hand out to the side.

"No! Wait! Do not escalate the situation!" Roman said, causing Dio to chortle in response. "Escalate? Yea the only thing escalating is your head from your shoulders if you dont taste this shit." Dio held a pill he had fished out of the baggy between his fingertips. Roman grimaced, gritting his teeth. "Get that shit away from me…" Roman said in a quiet, dangerous tone. Dio glared back at him. "You trying to poison me? Is that your big plan, Russsskie?" Roman shook his head quickly and violently. "No!" He hissed through his teeth.

Dio held the pill up to Roman's face. "Then take this hit." Dio said. Roman's body shuddered, he let his mask of control slip from his face for a brief moment. "Alright…" He finally said. He reached a open hand out, which Dio immediately slapped aside. "Hold is mouth open… now your going to swallow what I give you, bitch." Dio said, smirking with sadistic pleasure in his eyes as he stuffed the pill into Roman's mouth with his fingertips, before crushing his palm against his lips, forcing his filthy hand between his teeth. Roman closed his eyes tightly, as he felt the pill enter his mouth, as he tasted the salt off gang banger's hand.

Roman loathed drugs. His entire life he sought control, over his body, his mind, and of others. Mind altering drugs gave that control away. It unraveled everything Roman clung to so tightly. He swallowed the capsule down, waiting for whatever effects to hit him. Dio watched him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Roman kept his eyes tightly shut, fearing whatever sensation, whatever high, whatever low was about to take him.

Then… he felt good. He opened his eyes. He felt more then good, he felt perfect. Everything was was divine, he was divine. He studied the colorful outfits of the men holding him, the colors were far more vibrant now, then before. The flood of endorphins filled his head and snuffed out the fear he felt before like a candle being struck by a tidal wave. He shouldered the men holding him away roughly, and didnt fear any reprisal. He felt like a superhero, immune to whatever damage they could try to dish out at him.

Dio and his men laughed, pointing and hollering. He realized he probably looked like an idiot, that he was flexing his muscles and looking at then bulge from under his dress shirt with fascination. He closed his eyes and meditated, even intense euphoria was something he could overcome. Dio quickly popped a pill into his own mouth and chewed it. His muscular body tensed, and his veins bulged in his neck as he felt the surge of adrenaline and pleasure hit. "Yea! Thats the shit, thats the high I wanna ride!"

Roman opened his eyes and did his best to ignore the euphoria bursting in his body. "I have ten thousand pills with me." Roman said calmly. Dio shoved Roman back suddenly. "Then go get um, bitch!" Roman glared back at the man with pure contempt, revealing his true emotions for the first time since he arrived. He quickly reeled back his passion and nodded obediently.

He turned around and started walking back to the van. He tried to excude his usual calm, authorative aura, but his hand began opening and closing rapidly without his permission. He clenched it tightly into a fist to keep the anxious tick under his control. "And next time, bring the shit with you, dont waste my time with samples. Acting like some kind of businessman, you aint nothing but an busta." Dio called after him.

Roman stopped. An intense hatred, far more powerful then anything he felt before, washed through him. It took everything in Roman's power, to stop himself from turning back around and throwing himself at Dio, like a drug fueled animal. "Get your shit together Roman… you are above this. You are above him." He said quietly to himself as he continued to walk calmly to his men. "Uh, what was that boss?" One of the white suits said as he approached. "Nothing." He said, raising a finger and making a circular motion in the air, before jerking his thumb back at the gangsters behind him.

He walked passed the van to the back of his car. He needed satisfaction, now more then ever. If it was the drugs influence or his discipline cracking, he didnt care. He needed it. Roman cast his driver an intense look. The tall man instinctively understood, popping the trunk. In the back of the trunk, Roman had placed one of the two treasures he took back from his visit to Japan.

Ever since he was a child, he looked up to the Japanese. They understood how to rule their lives, with discipline and honor, to seek perfection in oneself and in all things. While the Soviet's battered down America's defenses with their military, and poisoned her from within with their organized crime, Japan was attempting to swallow America's economy whole, legally, through business. The Japanese understood that business was war and in war you do whatever it takes, to achieve victory. No matter how much it demands of you, only the limitations of your mind and whatever misguided morality can hold you back from taking what's yours.

While Roman made is way to the trunk of his car, his men had gathered around the van. One of them pressed down the lever to the side door, but door didnt open. The mobster cursed in Russian, before tapping at the window of the van. He waited, while Dimitri shuffled around inside so he could reach the door to unlocking it.

The mobster outside waited for Dimitri to settle himself, before sliding open the side door and stepping aside. Dimitri sat with his back against the other side of the van, with Roman's "Negotiator" mounted on a tripod between his legs. An RPK, a Russian machine gun with a long banana shaped magazine, was one of Roman's favorite tools for bringing business meetings to a close. Dimitri pulled the trigger. An explosion of automatic fire filled the used car lot, as Dimitri waved the barrel back and forth over the mass of gangsters. Dio was one of the first to fall, as the rifle caliber rounds tore through him and his men.

As the used car lot turned into a war zone, Roman calmly lifted trunk, revealing the long, aluminum case held within. He ran his fingers over the smooth metallic surface of the case, before popping the locks and opening the lid. A 14th century Kamakura era katana rested inside. He touched the dark brown, bamboo scabbard respectively, running his fingertips against the rusty red colored corded handle, before drawing the blade with a sudden burst of movement.

In his drug influenced mind, the light catching from the steel of the blade, basked him in a radiant light. The chassis of the luxury car shuddered, sinking down towards the pavement before rising back up, as Roman's ghoul of a bodyguard stepped from the vehicle. The tall stoic slowly reached back into the car, lifting up the center compartment and pulling free a snub nose .357 revolver. Roman briskly walked passed the tall man, who instinctively followed him slowly, letting Roman move on ahead.

When the RPK's banana mag was finally dry, Dimitri shouted so in Russian. The rest of Roman's goons pulled out their pistols or shotguns from the back of the van and began to stalk towards the back of the lot like a pack of hunters looking for survivors. Roman shouted, far more aggressively then he meant to, for them to stop.

"No! They are mine! **Mine!** " He yelled. Unable to contain the energy in his legs, he dashed through the car lot, leaning foreword with his ancient katana cocked back in a low stance, using the cars as cover to conceal his movements. His bodyguard would shadow him, taking his meticulous time as Roman knew he would. The gang bangers returned fire at his men by the van wildly, relying on reflex and adrenaline to hit their targets, rather then trying to aim or control the bursts of their automatic weapons. Roman's men took cover, though the cone of fire from the remaining bangers was so wide, they might as well of stood out in the open.

The bangers didnt notice the drug fueled mob boss stalking between the cars towards them. His feet moved quickly with purpose, driven by retribution and bloody satisfaction as the hallucinogenic stimulant coursed through his body. He approached his first victim from the side. The banger turned towards the sound of his rapidly approaching feet, so Roman darted between the gap of cars to his left, waiting just out of view.

The banger took a cautious step foreword. From Roman's point of view, only his ring studded hand and the MAC-10 submachine gun was visible. Instead of letting the banger pass in front of him, he stood suddenly, and slashed his ancient blade in a mighty, upward arc. As the blade passed through the banger's wrist, like a hot blade through butter, the droplets of blood seemed to twinkle, sparkle in the light as if banger's severed hand was filled with tiny red diamonds.

The banger blinked, looking down at his severed stump where his hand once was, and screamed. Roman turned to the side, using the momentum of the swing, to turn his back to the disarmed banger, and turn the sword around in his hands, taking the time to admire the brilliant red droplets that spattered from the blade as it turned through the air, before thrusting the sword behind him, into his victims belly.

The bangers screams turned to a low, defeated groan, before Roman savagely ripped the blade from his belly, tearing his stomach open and spilling its contents onto the pavement bellow. He marveled at how his bloodied blade. It was no longer a sword, but a red stained paint brush using the air as its canvas. Hhe relished the sound of his opponent hitting the ground with a satisfying thud.

The window of the car besides him shattered as a dozen bullets riddled it, only a few inches from his head. Roman took a moment to marvel at the thousands of tiny star fires erupting with a brilliant shimmer next to his face as the shattered glass from the window surrounded him.

Roman quickly pulled himself to his senses and ducked, keeping his sword back and low, listening to where his new opponent came from. He heard the quick footsteps of the banger's sneakers against the concrete, as he ran towards Roman, before the sound of automatic fire ripped through the air once more. Roman felt overwhelmed by the noises and vibrations racking through his body as the drug amplified his sensory stimuli. He closed his eyes tightly and focused, he would need to time this next attack perfectly to avoid rushing from cover to early, taking a bullet in the chest, and to late, to remain still as he is flanked from the side.

The loud crack of his drivers .357 rippled through the air, before the banger seemed to trip and fall. The banger's head landed with a wet thud as it slammed into the pavement, near Roman's feet. As Roman looked down, at the bangers wide eyes, frozen in death, he noticed the blood pooling from the head wound where the bullet had entered. He was glad his driver's aim had not deteriorated with age.

He quickly stood up and checked his surroundings. His driver was crouching his massive but gangly frame behind an SUV. One of the bangers heard the loud boom of the .357 and turned his wild firing towards the drivers direction, forcing him to remain in cover. The banger circled the driver, limiting his fire to short bursts, keeping the driver in cover as he flanked him.

Roman saw an opportunity. It was a long shot, there was more then twenty feet in between him and the last banger, and he'd have to leave his cover and be completely exposed. It was an unnecessary risk, his driver had gotten out of situations far more precarious then this, but whether it was the drugs, or the building insults inflicted upon him, he took the risk anyway.

He sprinted from the cover, darting like a rocket towards the banger. The banger heard him, and turned his body, around to face the new threat. Roman felt a thrill he had never experienced before in his life. The mind altering drug was over stimulating enough, but the added terror and excitement of his life hanging in the balance, his survival dependent on how fast the man before him could turn and aim his weapon… it was a thrill like none other.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, he had closed half of the distance between him and the banger, who had already turned to face Roman. In Roman's, drug addled mind, he had plenty of time still to process the mistake he had made, how much time it would take for the banger to steady his aim and send a salvo of bullets into his body. He gritted his teeth and chambered his katana back and holding the tip outward like a spear. He let out a terrifying scream, his eyed filled with hate as the banger raised the submachine gun at his chest. Five feet separated them, as the banger pulled the trigger, his face bunching into an angry scowl. No sooner then he had, his angry scowl blossomed into that of wide eyed terror. The gun was empty, and he was fucked.

Roman thrust the tip of his sword deep into the banger's shoulder, just under his collarbone before twisting the blade, changing the pitch of the banger's tortured screams with every turn. He pulled the blade from the banger, marveling at the beautiful rain of red dribbling onto the pavement, before stepping foreword and swinging the blade in a horizontal slash. The banger's eyes bulged from his head as the blade passed through his neck. A half second later blood erupted from his throat, leaving him to choke and gurgle on it in disbelief.

Roman watched the banger as he sunk to his knees, then collapsed to bleed out into the concrete. He noted how quickly that man's fortune had changed, as quickly as his expressions. A hateful glare, became a sudden look of fear, which gave way to disbelief. Disbelief that it was really happening, that his life was coming to a close. He flicked the blade towards the ground, sending the droplets to collide against the pavement in a beautiful sprinkle of red.

Roman's driver crept from around the Ford Bronco he had taken cover behind. His expressions were subtle, a mild look of surprise, his lips open a centimeter more then they usually hung. It would only be noticeable to Roman, for the his tall bodyguards gaunt face was all but a mask to anyone else. But Roman knew, the driver must have been shocked to see his master take such a risk, and for so little gain.

The rest of his men gathered nearby, looking around for any hidden surprises Roman or Dimitri may have missed. "Looks clear boss… uh good job with that." Dimitri said, glancing down at the body face down on the pavement. Roman took a few meditative breaths before answering, mentally trying to let the euphoria of the drug go, with every exhale of air. "Sometimes, you just need to get your hands dirty." He said, looking up at Dimitri with dangerous glare. Dimitri nodded and broke eye contact. "Yea… well we took out the competition, what now boss?" Before Roman could answer, the front window of the dealership building exploded in a rain of glass shrapnel, and the sudden boom of a shotgun blast rang through their ears. After they had taken cover, and several more shots echoed from the dealership building, Roman turned to Dimitri who had scrambled on the ground near his feet. "We take care of **that**."

The dealership owner, loaded the shells into his pump action shotgun, cursing every combination of Russian slurs and "ass" he could think of. He had taken cover behind the front counter as he reloaded frantically. He dropped two of the five shells he loaded, his hands trembling from fear. He gritted his teeth. His eyes though filled with rage, were wet and shiny, on the brink of tears. He pumped the action of the shotgun. "Ready or not mother fuckers, here I come!" He screamed, still sitting behind the cover, before standing with a flurry of motion, swinging the shotgun to where the Russians had taken cover in front of the store window.

His eyes widened as he felt the stinging bite of a blade against his throat. "Oh god…" He murmured through quivering lips. Roman stepped from the side, bringing his face close to the trembling man's. "Drop, your, gun." Roman whispered firmly. The owner obeyed, quivering like a frightened child. "You can… can kill me…" The owner said, trying to regain some level of stubborn defiance before Roman ended his life. "Yes, I can." Roman said, pressing the blade tighter against the man's neck. He continued, through spittle filled blubbering. "B-but you'll never make it in this town… they wont work with commies." The owner stammered.

Empty words, from a man who had no leverage. " _How sad."_ Roman had never heard of a junky who prided himself on his patriotism when his supply of drugs ran out. The owner gritted his teeth and waited for Roman to drag the blade across his throat. "You don't like Russians much, do you?" Roman said, knowing full well the statement was redundant. The owner gave Roman an incredulous look that overcame his fearful blubbering. "Y-you really asking me if I like the Kremlin coming in here and forcing your commie bullshit down our throats…? As if our own government wasnt bad enough."

Roman let the man talk, before giving him a severe look. He tensed his arms, pressing the blade tighter against the owner's throat. The moment of bravery passed, and once again the owner trembled, waiting for the killing blow. "The Soviets are no more fit to run this country then the weaklings in Washington." Roman said, surprising the owner. "What you mean? You're one of them…" Roman shook his head at that. "I am Romanian, my driver…" Roman said, gesturing to his ghoulish bodyguard as he leaned in from the shadows. "He is from Norway." The owner flinched and cursed under his breath as he laid eyes on the driver for the first time. "Jesus…"

Roman lifted the owners chin with his blade to get his full attention. "We have no love for governments here. In Russia, we were outcasts. People they could not control like little red pawns… So we came here, where we are free." The owner gritted his teeth, still holding on to his suspicions. "Came here to do what? Make our lives miserable?" Roman smiled at that. "No. To make a whole lot of money… Dio wasn't the brains of the operation, he was the muscle. You, you were the brains…" Roman said, softening his tone and lifting the blade from the owner's neck. "Yea, I was." The owner confirmed. Roman leaned in closer. "Would you like to make some money with us?"

Roman stepped out from his black luxury car, with his ancient katana. He kept his katana with him, on his lap, during the drive, which he now held in his left hand, the blade safely sheathed within its scabbard. As he walked passed his driver who held the door open for him, he gave him a small nod. Though he would never show it, he was grateful that the driver had saved his life. He was proud of him, and the rest of his men, but most of all, he was proud of himself.

It wasnt something just anybody could do. To remove the head of a criminal enterprise and insert yourself, and he did all of that in less then a day. His driver escorted him to the front of the seedy high rise apartment complex where Roman resided. He looked up at the aging, decrepit building, a relic of a time when the area wasnt swallowed up by gangs and junkies.

The building was a good representation of the state of this country. Once standing tall, proud and pretentious, now weathered and corroded. Roman had no pity for the American people, they did this to themselves. The whole United States experiment of freedom and free speech was always going to be their downfall. The United States, for all of its initial accomplishments was always going to be a flash in the pan of history. For a nation to survive, its leaders must rule, and its citizens must obey. All Roman and the rest of his ilk were doing by migrating here, was speeding up the decay they brought onto themselves, with their own weakness. If not Roman, some other crime boss would occupy the penthouse suite of this building.

He walked passed the sleeping doorman, and stepped into the elevator, leaving his driver on the bottom level. He did not need protection in his own home, after all, he had his other Japanese treasure in his penthouse suite. It was just as beautiful and twice as deadly as the prized katana, and it cost him far more, both financially and physically. He stepped from the elevator that stopped on the top floor, into the main hall of the suite. The entryway guarded by a simple doorman, or at least it was supposed to be.

The white suit of the goon he left to guard the front of his penthouse was stained with blood. Roman stopped in his tracks and took in the scene with grim silence. The Russian mobster was sitting against the wall, with his feet straight out. A red lotus flower was placed in his open mouth, giving the illusion it had taken root and grew straight out between his lips.

When he was finished, he walked passed the body, to the hallway that lead to the door to his suite. When he opened the door, his ears were instantly met by the sounds of bamboo flute music, playing from the multi CD player stereo, and the speakers installed throughout the suite.

He closed the door behind him. His apartment was lavishly decorated in Japanese décor with a Zen gong, kabuki masks, bonsai trees, incense burners, filled his pent house apartment, with an entire wall being elaborately painted to depict a red rising sun against a black charcoal drawn field.

He walked into the room giving a sideways glance at the full suit of Samurai armor, before stopping in front of a tall, ornate sword rack, filled with katanas, wakizashi's and tanto's, the sword, short sword and dagger of the samurai. He placed his antique katana back in its place amongst the inferior, but high quality pieces.

He walked into the living room, and gazed upon his most valuable possession. Suki, his woman he had brought from Japan, was practicing her deadly art, swinging her wakizashi's with perfected precision. Her lithe, agile body was accented sensually, by her leather outfit, that was little more then many leather straps tightly squeezing against her. On her face she wore a leather mask of a kitsune, a Japanese spirit fox, that looked more like the mask of a débutante at a masquerade then anything authentic to her homeland. She was beautiful, sensual, and like Roman, sought perfection in all things.

As with most things, the Japanese people understood the relation between man and woman better then western cultures. In Japan, a man conquers, and a woman submits. He spent many a nights, sampling the local cuisine in the brothels, the massage parlors, and his favorite, the sadomasochist clubs. he was a dark and handsome foreigner after all, he had no trouble finding women willing to yield to his will. It was during his tour of flesh, that he discovered the rare treasure that was Suki. She was the mistress of the Black Lotus, a bondage club where the patrons spent their money to live out their fantasies on the working girls, or have it lived out on them if that was their preference.

Suki had offered Roman, any of the girls he desired, but he didnt want them, he wanted her. She had informed him, with a sweetly sinister tone, that she was not on the menu. This only made him want her more. From that point on, the women of Japan, all the women of the world, bored Roman. He was tired of meaningless flings, momentary acts of domination and fantasy fulfillment. Suki would be the ultimate conquest.

She let him know, out of courtesy, that she would not submit to any man, that pursuing her was a lethal mistake, but all he said in response was "You will be mine." in a stern, confident voice, a promise. The look of astonishment blossoming over her face told Roman she admired his dedication. She then proceeded to laugh in his face and asked him to leave. He refused leaving only when the police were called, slipping away just before they arrived.

He followed her to her home each night for a week, telling her "Be mine." as she turned the key to her door. She would scoff, and close the door in his face, but he would just returned to the club, and repeat the cycle the next night. Eventually he broke into her appartment standing before her as she stood in the kitchen, wearing only her nightgown.

She demanded he leave, but he could tell, deep down, she could sense the strength of his will and the depths of his desires. When she paid him back, waking him up in the middle of the knight with a dagger against his throat, all he did was speak one simple phrase. "Be mine." It was then that she finally did submit. It was the most passionate sex Roman had ever had. She clawed, she bit, she struggled for dominance, but he remained in control. The next morning, he told her they would be leaving, to America to carve out his empire. She obeyed. She had been at his side, his lover and confidant ever since.

He watched her preform her sword arts, from behind for a few moments before speaking. "What did I tell you about killing my men?" He asked firmly. She turned to him, letting her curved short swords rest at her sides dramatically. "I was doing you a favor, my love. I tested his loyalty… and found him wanting." She cooed softly.

Roman brought his open hand across her cheek with enough force to stagger her to the floor. She turned back to him, her eyes alight with fury. He caught her arms by the wrists, before she could thrust one of her wakizashi's into his body and held her tightly against himself. She bared her teeth angrily, panting with indignant anger. When it was clear she was not strong enough to squirm from his grasp, her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed. She pressed her luscious lips against his, her tongue invading his mouth with wild tenacity. She dropped her wakizashi's, letting them stab into the wood floor and wrapped her legs against Roman's waist, as he lifted her up to bring into his bedroom.

Roman laid back on his bed, as Suki ran her fingers against the tattoos on his chest. She watched him carefully, her mask, as well as her leather outfit had been cast aside somewhere across the penthouse. He stared straight ahead, sullenly. "Whats wrong, my love? I couldnt feel your heart next to mine..." Suki said softly. Roman groaned in annoyance. "It's not my heart, where I want your attentions to lie…" He grumbled. Suki smiled slyly and rested her chin on his shoulder, letting her fingers drag against his stomach. "Tell me…" She whispered.

Roman stared ahead for awhile before finally answering. "I had him, within swords reach…" He said. Suki's hand stopped. "You challenged him to a duel?" Roman shook his head ever so slightly. "He challenged me… but I couldnt do it. His henchman was in the room…" He said, his voice trailing off. "And…?" Suki said. Roman sighed before answering. "I felt him, while we were locking eyes, while he challenged me…" Roman said in a low voice.

"His aura?" Suki asked. Roman nodded. "His presence was overwhelming. His thirst for conquest and violence is unlike anything I've ever seen…" Roman said with a grimace. Suki turned his head to face him, planting a wet kiss against his lips. Roman returned her kiss, groaning against her skillful tongue, before he felt her teeth sink into his bottom lip. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and he tore her from his face, rolling over the top of her and pinning her wrists to her sides. He glared down at her, as she smirked up at him.

"Where is the proud conqueror now?" She cooed. Roman clenched his teeth together in anger as she laughed. "Where is the man worthy of my devotion? Are you going to stew on your failures and let him unman you?" She taunted. "No." Roman hissed through his teeth. "What are you going to do then?" Roman's eyes turned cold. "I will bide my time, build my empire…" Suki nodded. "Yes… then?" "Then… I will bury him along with anyone who stands in my way… I will own this city, and nothing will stop me…" Roman said, he could feel the fire burning in his chest as the words escaped his lips.

Suki leaned up to Roman and locked her lips against his. As their bodies once again entwined in passion, he could feel the flames in his chest begin to diminish. At one time, Suki was the one that cradled his flame. Now, it was this city, it was Miami. Miami would be the ultimate conquest.


	8. Chapter 8

"What… you're not happy?" Corey asked from under her zebra mask. Tony clenched his teeth as they approached the seedy, decrepit club. His eyes locked onto the sign of the club, that blinked with cheap red neon lights. At one point the sign read "The Dolphin's Fan Club bar and grill" when in the hands of the original owners. Half of the sign had now been smashed, the remaining letters made up the new unofficial name of the place. "The Fan Club"

Tony ground his teeth in anger. What a stupid fucking name. He already knew he was going to hate it here. As if to make sure the city knew the dumb name wasnt any accident, the words "The Fans" were spray painted over the walls, next to shoddy imitations of the 50 Blessing's symbols. The jackasses couldnt even paint three horizontal lines and a circle right, clearly not the work of the original group, but by useless pretenders.

The fans… probably full of a bunch of wannabes hero worshiping Jacket like he's the next Messiah. Jacket showed them the way, but Tony refused to emulate him. Jacket was in prison, and had barely said a word other then "The phone made me do it." which the blood sucking reporters lapped up like the dogs they were. Jacket wasnt going anywhere. Worshiping him like some kind of fallen god wouldnt give these sorry sacks of shit enlightenment. It was up to them to turn their bodies into deadly weapons, to carry on where he left off.

These people should be out doing something rather then lounging around like bums and playing dress up. He had been to Corey's apartment a few times since they first discovered each others little secret. He saw her collage of all things Jacket… and that was not the reason he got into this. Maybe Corey would be content running around with a bunch of idiots, calling themselves "Fans" but not Tony. He was in this for the thrill, the rush he felt when he pushed himself just one more rep, that natural high of endorphins that flowed through his veins like liquid sex. Tony was in it for the action.

Tony wasnt a fan. He was a fucking gladiator, waiting to be unleashed on whatever got thrown in the ring with him. Tony would loiter in the back alleys of bars, and strong arm drunks and patrons for quick cash. The last guy who resisted, wound up with a broken arm and a shattered jaw. Unlike these pretenders, and unlike Corey, there was no fantasizing or illusions about him. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt, that his body was one hundred percent pure. A lean mean killing machine.

He spent half of his life sculpting his body to be perfect, what a colossal waste of fucking time that was. There was no such thing as perfect, he would never be good enough, not to himself, not when compared to the world's best. He would always try to get bigger, stronger, better. If he kept down that path, he'd spend his entire life pushing past limits, only to meet new ones. That and steroids were expensive. To be competitive at any level he had to shoot up like a junky to get a leg up. After spending everything he had on protein and shots of testosterone, he went looking for a new calling.

Thats when he started dabbling in power lifting, putting his power to good use. He would walk around the city thinking "Can I lift it?" before he quickly grew bored with that as well. After that he found what he thought at the time was his true calling, USBA/WBA. The United States and World Breaking Association. A group whose entire focus was competitive brick breaking. After giving his brawn a purpose, smashing bricks his bare hands, something clicked for Tony.

He wasn't lifting weights and punishing his body till it suffered for vanities sake. He was honing his fists to destroy anything they came in contact with. Every crack to his knuckles, or the bones of his wrists and forearms eventually healed, becoming denser, stronger. He had turned his fists into wrecking balls.

When smashing stationary targets got boring for Tony, he switched to boxing to swing at something that could actually fight back. He got a nasty reputation for being more of a bruiser then a boxer, but he hit like a truck and only the brave would face him. After a few months, no would even climb into the ring with him. He didn't give a shit, they were worried about winning matches, and keeping their bodies safe. They were jokes, not real fighters. Tony wasnt a petty boxer, he was a warrior. He worked the heavy bag until the flesh of his knuckles sloughed off for months on end, until the flesh grew back tougher, and his fists were closer leather wrapped irons, then skin and bones. Soon, he would be breaking assholes skulls, not bricks.

As the front of the shithole building grew closer, Tony finally answered Corey's question. "Yea, I'm fucking thrilled, why not just take me to a place called "The pretenders" next?" Tony said. He growled under his mask and cast a searing glare back at Corey. She met his hostility with her cool, detached eyes. Her way of coping with Tony's intensity seemed to be staring blankly, as far as Tony could tell.

"Alex said this place was cool…" She finally said with a shrug. Tony had been pushing Corey to find them something to do with their new found revelations. While he didnt really have any ideas of his own, he knew that Corey was smart and capable, she'd figure it out if he kept on her ass about it. She was the type of person who would keep her fantasies locked in her head and let them remain their, never letting them become reality.

Not Tony though, he was a man of action. What they were doing at this point was little more then having vigilante slumber parties, but instead of talking about cute boys and doing each others nails they talked about Jacket and killing people. Needless to say, Tony was unfulfilled.

"Hey dude, nice tiger mask! Wicked…" Said a street vendor, who had set up shop against the front of the club. He was selling T shirts with custom prints. He held one up with the 50 blessings symbol on it in tie dye colors, basically just a damn circle with three messy horizontal lines smeared across it. "Wanna buy a shirt, got a local artist making them, the mans a genius. Look at his work, tell me this isnt worth five dollars!" The vendor said.

"Its not worth five dollars, now get that out of my face." Tony said, clenching his fists. As he stared down the sniveling vendor, Corey shifted through the piles of shirts. She held up a shirt of Jacket, wearing his rooster mask, standing on a pile of dead bodies with his hands down to his sides, like some kind of saint of vigilantes. Tony rolled his eyes. "Common Corey, lets get this shit over with." Tony said roughly. Corey nodded slowly, and placed the shirt down, following Tony as he entered the club.

Tony opened the door and swaggered through the drunks and junkies laying on the floor or leaning against the walls, bobbing their head to the terrible grunge music coming from within the club. Tony cursed under his breath as he swung open the second door to the main hall of the club.

The first thing he saw was a shitty band, screaming their not quite punk, not quite rock "music" with as much rhythm as a car alarm blaring in your ears. "Fuck this place…" Tony grunted. "What?" Corey asked. The music was as loud as the singer was tone deaf.

"Lets just… just follow me!" Tony yelled, before strutting his massive frame to the bar, his fists tightly clenched in frustration. "Get me a beer." He said in a loud, hostile voice. The bartender blinked and grinned like a fucking moron, as he noticed Tony's mask. "Whoa, nice mask, you didnt get that from the box did you?" The bartender fawned. Tony narrowed his eyes at the bartender as Corey slid next to him at the bar. "What fucking box?" Tony asked. The bartender pointed, and Tony followed his finger to the three cardboard boxes In the middle of the room, stuffed with rubber animal masks. "No you idiot, this mask is the real deal! It's one of Jacket's masks. I found it at building he wiped." Tony said defiantly.

Tony couldnt help but feel a little swelling of pride at the wide eyed stares of approval, even if they were from these losers. Corey turned to him, before tilting her head to the side. Tony couldnt tell what face she was making under the mask but it seems like something he said didnt sit well with her. Tony didnt know what the hell Corey's problem could be, he wasnt lying.

He had looted a building where Jacket had one of his "sprees" and saw the carnage that man left in his wake. What a massacre. Throats ripped out, skulls bashed in, bodies torn up by bullets and shotgun blasts. There was even an explosion with rubble from upper floors reigning down onto the first. Tony was sure your average jack-off would run at the sight of a bloody war zone, but frankly, he was just impressed.

That fact that one man could do all this, with only his own two hands, and whatever improvised weapon he took from his enemies, was nothing short of amazing. He found the mask, ripped up and spattered with blood, in the middle of some rubble. An explosion from god knows what, blasted the center of the floor apart. Now, the entire bar looked at him, and the mask on his face like it was the holy grail or something. Tony ignored them, and took the bottle of beer from the bartenders hand, lifting his mask for a deep swill before slamming it back onto the table.

Corey seemed to have attracted her own little fan club. A bunch of swooning idiots in their early twenties hung around her, probably building up the courage to go up and talk to her. Bunch of pussies. She rightly ignored them, and waited at the bar next to Tony in silence.

Tony noticed out of the corner of his eyes, that a large guy with dreads was eyeing him curiously. The black guy had two moderately attractive women hanging around him, and looked to be entertaining a throng of idiots by spinning a butterfly knife around his fingers with effortless grace. Now, he was staring at Tony and Corey, with a strange curiosity, as he flipped the blade between his fingers.

Tony wasnt in the mood to chat, so he couldnt care less what the asshole wanted. He ordered another beer after slamming the last one back. He grabbed it from the bartender, who was still staring at him like some love starved puppy, and left the bar, making his way to what appeared to be some kind of lounge. In reality it was little more then a long, ragged, baby-puke-green couch, next to coffee table, with another ugly green couch on the other side of it.

Tony sat down on one of the cushions of the couch that was still intact, and drank from his beer, silently stewing. Corey hovered to his right, watching him silently. When the grunge band finally quit for the night, Tony spoke up. "You ready to leave this shit hole yet?" He asked. Corey sighed and scanned the table full of electronics and phones in the corner, before turning back to him. "We came here to meet people, to start something… remember?" She asked softly.

Tony scoffed and turned half around on the couch, gesturing to the bar full of losers. "With these assholes? You think any of these losers are the real deal?" Corey turned and scanned the area calmly, studying the patrons far longer then Tony thought necessary. "No…" She said begrudgingly. "Right, so lets get out of here." Tony said. He waited for her response, but didnt rise from the couch. Corey tilted her head at him. "Why? So we can go back to me watching you do one armed push ups at my apartment?" Corey said in a playful tone.

"Let's just go back to the basement, I scared those junkies off before, I'll just do it again." Tony said. Corey sighed sadly. "We need a real hideout… Not one that homeless people keep shitting in…" Tony watched Corey's zebra head hang, and her shoulder's slump. Losing her vigilante training yard that she worked so hard, on was really weighing on her. She's been acting moody and detached all week. Then again, she always was the brooding type and for all Tony knew she was just on her period. Still, Tony didnt like seeing her like this. "Quit your sulking already for fuck's sake." Tony said gruffly.

Corey glanced back at him. "I'm not sulking… I'm just not ready to leave yet…" She said frankly. Tony grunted. "Why not?" To which Corey simply pointed at the table full of electronics. "They have a police scanner, telephones hooked up to an ID blocker, and other stuff I dont recognize…" Corey said calmly. Tony leaned to the side and glanced around her at the table. Seems like she was right. "Fine, they got some toys and gadgets, but what does that matter if no one here has the balls to use them?" Tony said. "I think it's time I introduced myself…" A voice said, coming from behind Tony. He glanced at the dark skinned man with the dreads approaching with his entourage.

Tony stood face him, crossing his arms in front of his chest before speaking. "Who the hell are you?" The guy with the dreads narrowed his eyes and placed a hand in his front pocket. Tony eyed the outline of his knife. He smirked under his mask with predatory delight. His entire body yearned to see the guy pull his blade. He came here for some action, if not with these losers, he'd gladly take a bar fight as a consolation prize.

Corey must have sensed that Tony's body was rearing with anticipation and stepped foreword, getting the dread guy's attention. "Hey, I'm Corey, nice place…" She said softly. Tony saw the guy with the dreads, eyes sparked with recollection. "Corey? Yea, yea, yea! I thought that was you. You're the bitch with the dark hair right?" The dreads guy said an unnervingly familiar voice. Corey nodded, while Tony fumed under his mask at the man.

The dreadlocked idiot continued. "Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, officially that is. My name is Darius… whose your friend?" The man known as Darius said, glancing at Tony warily. Tony glared back at him. "Tony, and call her a bitch again, I'll take that knife in your pocket, and shove it up your ass." Tony said harshly. Darius blinked before narrowing his eyes, giving Tony a thousand yard stare. He watched Darius's hand rest on his front pocket. Tony's biceps bulged in anticipation.

One of Darius's girl friends step foreword between them. "Hey big guy, Darius didnt mean anything by it." The attractive blonde girl said, placing her fingertips on his arm. Tony smacked her hand aside so violently, she cried out pain. "Did I ask you, bitch!?" Tony snarled, keeping hiss furious glare on Darius's eyes. Corey took a step back, as Darius pulled the butterfly knife from his pocket and spun it open with amazing dexterity. He held it low at his side, not quite brave enough to raise it in Tony's direction.

Tony stepped closer. "I didnt come here to make friends, or to hang with a bunch of fucking posers." He hissed through gritted teeth. Darius's body tensed, he was close to springing that blade foreword towards Tony's guts, Tony could feel it. Tony had challenged him, more then challenged him! He had all but stomped on his sneakers. Tony grinned, his eyes piercing into Darius's with sadistic delight.

He knew this fucking joke of a man had one of two options. To stand by his ego and use his blade, or tuck tail like a little bitch. Either way, Tony won. "I came here to get some action. If you're the closest thing to a badass this place has, I'll gladly beat my thrills out of you. Either way, I'm not going home without getting my hands wet." Tony said, spitting out his hate filled words through clenched teeth. It wasnt just empty words, unlike everything about this den of fakes and phonies, Tony was raw. He meant what he said.

He waited, eagerly, for Darius to let his ego make the mistake for him. If his hand so much as twitched, Tony would break his arm. He stepped even closer, giving Darius every advantage to lift his blade. Darius's eyes flickered with conflicted emotions, and he grit his teeth. Tony could see the tug of war between Darius's fear and pride go back and forth behind his eyes. Tony maintained his fierce gaze, his eyelids twitching with anger under his mask, while his eyes burned with a furious hatred for the man. He not only wanted the man to move his hand now, to make the first move, he needed it. His muscles flexed and his veins swelled in his arms and neck. His body responding just to the thought of the upcoming action.

The rest of the club was silent, the bartender, the drunks at the bar, the junkies all watched, frozen in anticipation. Darius looked around in desperation. Tony hadn't just stepped up to some asshole, he had stepped up to **the** asshole. Must have been the top dog of this place. The king of the phonies. Probably showed off his skills twirling a butterfly knife like it was something to be proud of, like it somehow made him dangerous. It wasnt fast fingers and a knife that made someone dangerous, not even muscles and fists of iron. It's what's on the inside that mattered.

Tony could sense it right away in this joker before him. He was a fake ass bitch, Tony knew it, Darius knew it. What more, Darius knew that Tony knew it. Even so, Darius had to make a move, even if it cost him a trip to the emergency room. Darius was the king of this hive of shit, if he bowed out he showed everyone just how big a pussy he really was.

Tony waited for the inevitable, but something sparkled behind Darius's eyes. The idiot in dreads had an idea. Darius took a step back, his eyes now alight with forced admiration. "My man… you are one hard mother fucker! Do you know how long I've waited for the real deal to show up in this place? Since we took this place over, since the beginning!" Darius said, flicking his knife closed before raising his hands to his side, as if telling the whole bar to gaze upon Tony with awe.

Tony narrowed his brow, he wasnt sure if Darius was being serious, or attempting to laugh Tony off. If he was mocking Tony, he wouldnt wait for Darius to make the first move. The black chick who stood next to the blonde nodded in reverence. "Respect…" She said firmly. Tony looked around, annoyed at the wide eyed looks from the bar that had turned into looks of idolization. "I dont give a shit what you assholes think! I came here for one thing, and one thing only, get my hands dirty." Tony declared, which only made the crowds of idiots all the more impressed.

Tony glanced at Corey's eyes behind her mask, moving them around the crowd, before looking back to him. He wondered what she thought of all this, but he'd ask her later, when the hall full of losers werent gawking at them. Darius stepped foreword, nodding eagerly. "Thats exactly what I wanted to hear. We've been casing out the local scum bags for people no one would miss, watching, waiting, planning. You're the man to finally make this place legit, you feel me?" Darius said excitedly. Tony snorted back at him. "If you wanted to make this place legit, you wouldnt be planning, you'd be doing." Tony said.

Tony could see the annoyance flash behind Darius's eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "Its not that simple… we have been keeping tabs on the local bangers and dealers, but half of the people here are either junkies or bangers themselves. We cant just start a gang war and cut off the crack heads now can we?" Darius said. Corey nodded, placing a hand on Tony's arm. "He's right Tony, we have to pick our targets carefully."

Tony's arm tensed at Corey's hand placed on his bicep. He hesitated before jerking it away. He turned her fiery gaze to meet her cool detached one. "I didnt come here to make the world a better place neither!" Tony snarled at her. Corey crossed her arms, her eyes remaining calm. "Do you have any targets or places in mind then…?" Corey asked, giving him an obnoxiously knowing gaze.

Tony grit his teeth in frustration. She had him there, he hadnt planned anything more then what he'd do in the thrill of the moment, not how they'd get in and get out of a place full of scumbags without getting arrested or killed. He threw his hands up in the air and to the side in anger. "Fine, I'll play along for now… but you." Tony pointed his finger at Darius, who visibly braced himself. "If you cant find us someone or something to do… we're doing you in instead." The entire club watched Darius as he did his best to shrug off the violent implications and maintain his pride. "My muscle bound brother… do I have someone for you."


	9. Chapter 9

Corey watched as Tony paced back in forth in the dilapidated building. His fists were clenched into tight, furious boulders of hate. He growled and ground his teeth. He kept his head down, his eyes burning holes into the concrete ahead of him as his feet took short furious steps to the end of the room, before turning around to do it all over again.

Corey sat cross legged on some weathered desk, her back leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Darius had told them to wait here in an abandoned office building, across from some ruined apartment complex. They were to stay put until their target arrived.

Darius had been frustratingly cryptic, perhaps his way of getting back at Tony for emasculating him in front of his fans. Either way, she was left to handle the pent up Tony by herself. She watched him, from under her zebra mask, her face as expressionless as the rubber shell she wore.

Tony's body vibrated with whatever internal demons he struggled with. Lately, he had been doing a worse and worse job of keeping them from spilling out. Corey wouldnt admit it, for a multitude of reasons, but Tony scared her. It was true they felt a kinship, together with their new faces, and Tony was just the man she needed to help push her from her comfort zone and do something about her fantasies. To help her become something more… But the reason Tony wanted kill was much different from Corey's. He was holding back a white hot anger inside of him that seeped from every pore and radiated in all directions. Corey could sense it, she could feel, she swore she could almost taste it. Standing next to him now, as he quaked in anticipation and rage, every hair on the back of her neck stood straight.

Tony let out a short but intense yell from between his tightly clenched teeth. "Do you think he's dicking us off? Do you!?" Tony yelled, suddenly turning to her. Corey's entire body flinched, first at the sudden noise, then by the burning, orange-hazel eyes under Tony's tiger mask. She gave him a non-committal shrug, keeping her arms tightly crossed in front of her. The constant pressure around her chest was a strange comfort for her.

"It's possible…" She said calmly. Tony growled in the back of his throat, and turned from her, his arms down at his sides, slightly curled, his shoulders back, his head down. "Please… just calm down Tony." Corey said softly, though she worried trying to console him would cause more damage then good. Tony whipped his head around and glared at her with one eye, from over his shoulder. "If he's fucking with us, I'm going to kill him!" Tony hissed through clenched teeth. Corey shook her head. "He might just be nervous, stalling, while he figures what we're going to actually do…" Corey said, hoping her reasoning could act as a splash of water, to the fire in Tony's head.

Tony's eyes twitched, not from rage, but concentration as he thought over Corey's words. "Stalling?" Tony asked eventually. Corey nodded. "Like you said, he's all talk so far, he doesnt really know what he's doing, right…?" Corey said smoothly. She smiled to herself under her mask, as Tony straightened, and mentally chewed on her words. "Yea… the pussy probably never thought it would ever get this far!" Tony declared with a mixture of disgust and superiority.

"He's not like us… he never planned on becoming something more… something…" Corey said, letting her sentence hang in the air unfinished. She didnt really know how to explain it anymore. The longer she and Tony talked about it, their desires and fantasies, their transformation, the less sure she found herself. Tony didnt want to transform, he wanted to vent all the violent, hostile thoughts in his head, to validate his body he sculpted so brutally.

He didnt, or perhaps wasnt capable of thinking beyond that. His dedication to violence for the sake of violence was impressive to Corey, but that would never be satisfying for her. What would be the point of reveling in carnage and blood, if there was nothing accomplished? Corey didnt want to be a super hero, or a gang buster, she knew it would be naive and childish of her, to think they could actually make a dent in the evils of humanity. But if they didnt have a purpose, a goal to strive for, then the violence and blood would be meaningless to her.

If they were to become something more, something extraordinary, the people they broke and bloodied must be worthy sacrifices. Thats what Corey wanted, to baptize her new, interesting and powerful self in the blood of a real scumbag, someone the world would be better off without. That way, it wouldnt be murder, it would be a vigilante killing. You cant be a vigilante without some criminal or oppressive entity to fight against. She hoped she could steer Tony to see things her way… or at least keep him from smashing someone at random's face in by pointing his fists towards someone who actually deserved it.

Tony studied her face, narrowing his brow in thought after she let her sentence hang for awhile. "He was never going to be something **r** **eal** like us!" Tony said in a firm, but matter of fact voice. Corey nodded, feeling a swelling of pride in her chest. "Yea… he's not like us." Corey said softly.

After some more time had passed, Corey pulled on one of the boards nailed over the window of the ruined office building. They had been told to sit and stay put, until Darius came back with more instructions, but she didnt see why she couldnt have a peak herself. After all, it wasnt like she could trust her life in the hands of a man she just met. The board came loose in her hands suddenly, and she staggered back a few steps. Tony watched her, his arms crossed. She couldnt see his face, but from his body language, he was as bored as he was agitated, but she would take moody boredom over explosive hostility any day.

She gently placed the board down on the ground, before kneeling down to look through the filthy but unobstructed window. Tony continued to watch her with only mild interest. Across from the building they were in, she could see what looked to be a condemned apartment building. Besides being in desperate need of upkeep, she didnt see anything special about it. Some homeless woman, with hair like a rats nest, staggered from the door of the building, taking slow, wobbly steps. Corey narrowed her eyes and watched the woman shamble off down the street. "I think we're across from a crack house or something…" She said hesitantly. Tony scoffed. "He's going to send us to clear out a crack house? Lets just join the police academy while we're at it!" Tony said, shaking his head in frustration. He uncrossed his arms and let them fall back to his sides, balled up into angry fists and resumed his pacing once more. Corey sighed softly before pressing her eye up against the glass, watching the front for any activity or clues.

Her eyes darted to the right as a big brown Pontiac pulled up alongside the front of the alleged crack house. She watched with peeked intensity as the driver, and two passengers stepped from the vehicle. She studied them carefully. The driver, and one of the passengers, wore simple grey hoodies. From the way they swaggered with each step, and protectively flanked the third passenger, she figured they were hired muscle of sorts. The third passenger wore a white tank top and jeans, and was covered in tattoo's, all the way up to his bald head.

She jumped, nearly falling onto her rump, as the back door of the office building swung open. Tony whirled around and aggressively approached Darius as he entered through the door. "Hey relax big man." Darius said, walking around Tony, who maintained his hostile composure. "You better tell me what I want to hear." Tony mumbled, more annoyed then menacing. Darius shook his head, before placing several photographs onto one of the weathered desks near the middle of the room. Corey darted towards the desk curiously, looking at the photographs from the opposite end. She studied the photographs eagerly, seeing the photographs upside down from her perspective. Tony lumbered behind Darius, glowering down at the photos.

Corey's eyes flicked across the photo's laid onto the desk. They were three photo's, two of them mugshots of, what Corey suspected to be, hardened criminals. Corey tilted her head to the side at the picture of a familiar face. "Hey I just saw this guy outside…" Corey mused, placing a finger on the photo before turning it look at it right side up.

She was certain this was the man that had stepped outside of the giant Pontiac outside, she recognized the tattoos. Darius just grinned at her knowingly. "Yea? Well thats no accident." Darius said smugly. Tony's eyes flashed with excitement, and his clenched fists shuddered in anticipation. "This is our guy?" Tony asked, his words coming out so quickly they blended into one another. Corey wondered if it was purely from anticipation, or if even Tony was nervous at the thought of finally getting their hands "wet" as he had put it.

Corey blinked as she made a realization. She was not excited, she was not even nervous. She felt calm, ready, but nothing resembling fear gnawed at her. She racked her mind at what that could mean. Perhaps she didnt think they would go through with it, that it wasnt real. Maybe it just hadnt sank in yet, that when they got the building, and their adrenaline was pumping, **then** she would feel something. But as it stood, Corey was calm and collected. Her mind had been sifting through details and cooking up reasons and strategies before they were even applicable. It could have been her military training taking over, or maybe, just maybe…

Corey's mind pulled one explanation deep from the depths of her insecurity, before self doubt ate it away. Perhaps… she had already changed? Maybe she more like Jacket then she thought, and like him, she prepared to face danger without even batting an eye. The thought thrilled her to levels she didnt think possible. She closed her eyes to relish the sensation.

"What the fuck you mean, we cant kill him!?" Tony bellowed. Darius darted back, holding his hands up defensively, for what little good that would do him. Tony approached him, head foreword, shoulders back, fists vibrating with angry energy. Corey shook herself from her reflections and mentally curse herself for day dreaming through such an important conversation.

Darius did his best to reason with the enraged Tony. "Hey-hey man! You can still get your rocks off!" Darius only had time to stammer, before Tony grabbed him by the collar and yanked his face next to Tony's tiger mask. "You call this thrills? Smacking some junkeys around? I can do that anytime I want!" Tony growled, giving Darius a shake. Darius glared back at Tony as he struggled to free himself. "Look you god damn psycho, I'm trying to help you!" Darius snarled back at Tony. In his struggle to free himself, his hand smacked the rubber mask to the side of Tony's head, obscuring his vision.

Corey held her breath, as Tony moved in a flurry of motion. The blind berserker moved so quickly, that he and Darius became a blur. Tony threw Darius onto the desk, clamping a hand clamped over his throat, squashing his windpipe to the back of his neck. Darius struggled futilely, as his eyes bugged from his head. He watched helplessly as Tony's fist cocked back for a savage blow.

Corey dashed to Tony's side with impressive speed. She clamped her hand down on Tony's wrist, the one attached to the hand squeezing around Darius's throat. She squeezed Tony's wrist firmly, not enough to hurt Tony (Not that she could) just enough to get his attention. Tony jerked his head towards her, his hazel-orange eyes burning like rage fueled fire balls.

Corey steeled herself, feeling her heart waver only for a moment. She stared back, her gaze firm, as if she were disciplining an unruly child. A six foot four, body building child with a murderous temper. "Tony… stop it." She said. Tony's eyes quivered with emotions, his eyelids twitching involuntarily. Corey squeezed his wrist tighter. "This wont help anyone… not even you. Let him go…" Corey said in a calm voice.

Tony's angry, death dealing fist, shuddered as if unsure where to go, before he threw it up into the air in a frustrated gesture. He turned from her and storming off into a corner of the building to stew. She watched him, his back and shoulders still radiating with hostile electricity. She smiled softly under her mask. She was proud of herself. She may not be Tony's physical equal, but emotionally, her masked self was strong, stronger then Tony's.

As Tony fumed in the corner, like a pent up toddler, she realized the stress was getting to Tony. Having the outlet to his fiery, rage filled desires so close, yet so far away, it was burning him out. Tony was feeling overwhelmed, but Corey was not.

Corey smiled to herself before turning her rubber zebra head down towards Darius. He held his throat, sucking in pained breaths of air with a bewildered look on his face. He probably thought he saw death when he looked up into Tony's eyes, and if Corey hadnt intervened, he would have been right.

"Go back, from the beginning… why cant we kill this guy?" Corey asked calmly. She was hoping to get a recap of what she had missed, while appearing like the one in control at the same time. Darius, however, looked up at her with indignant eyes. "You crazy bitch! Your partner almost breaks my neck, and you expect more favors now!?" Darius said through gritted teeth.

Corey saw Tony's head snap up in alert, like a blood hound hearing the skitter of a rabbit in the woods, before whirling around. Corey's heart skipped a beat in realization, as the furious man stormed towards them, with brutal intent. "What the **fuck** did I say to you!? What did I say!?" Tony bellowed. Darius had enough time to sit up, before Tony's powerful hands reached back out for his neck.

Corey stepped in the way and grabbed Darius instead, taking him by the collar and jerking him against the rubber nose of her zebra face. Darius looked at her through the eye holes with a pained expression. "It's not smart to make Tony angry…" Corey said, glancing at Tony cautiously. Tony flanked her aggressively, holding up a fist, but otherwise waited his turn with Darius. "I didnt mean it, it just slipped out!" Darius stammered at Corey. "Then talk…" Corey said, keeping her voice calm and cool. "Talk before I shove my fist down your throat!" Tony said, keeping his voice fiery and combative.

Darius took a deep breath, collecting himself, before answering as calmly as he could. His knees still shook as he spoke. "We cant kill him… because he's the, THE supplier of crack in the area. You kill him, we destabilize the flow of junk." Darius said. Tony growled at that. "I dont give a shit about this neighborhood, I just want to get some action!" Tony said.

Corey winced, she really wanted to hear about this from the beginning. While the big bad Tony didnt care about reasons and causes, she did. "Start over… from the top." Corey said, pulling Darius from the table, and stabilizing him as he stood. Darius calmly accepted her help, even though she felt his body tense, like he wanted to throw her arm off, but the looming, tiger mask kept him in line.

"Yea, yea… just let me gather my thoughts." Darius said, collecting himself. "Hurry up!" Tony commanded. Darius narrowed his brow, and nodded begrudgingly. "From the beginning…" Corey insisted, hoping the two hadn't caught on. "Right… ok… this guy, Conrad, the neo Nazi looking mother-fucker." Darius pointed at the picture of the tattooed bald man. Corey nodded. "The guy outside. So he's a drug dealer then…?" Corey asked. Darius rolled his eyes. "No, he's a supplier. He gets the drugs to the dealers, organizes it… used to run with this brother, Dio…" Darius said.

Corey glanced at the other two photo's. "Which one of them is Dio?" Corey asked. Darius and Tony looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "What? He's dead, remember? These two guys took over." Darius said, giving Corey a look. Corey felt a welling of embarrassment but said nothing more. Darius continued. "Anyway… we think it was the Russians who took him out. These two cats here, are heavy hitters in the Russian mob." Darius said, tapping the other two pictures.

Corey studied the photo's carefully. One of them was a large, heavy set but powerful looking man from what she could tell of his face and shoulders. He had a distant but deep look in his eyes, something Corey had heard called a "thousand yard stare". They gave Corey the chills. It was clear, he was what the Russians called a "hard man".

Darius noticed her interest in the photo, so he tapped it. "Viktor, the muscle. One hundred percent Russian, big, brutal… patient. Scary mother-fucker. If he pays you a visit, you either do what he wants, or they find you in the trunk of your car." Darius said, raising his brow.

Corey nodded and glanced at the other photo. It was of a man with a darker complexion, with short curly hair. From what Corey could tell, he had a stern look in his eyes, but unlike the other two, the quality of the photo was poor. It seemed to be just a photo someone snapped when he was getting out of his car.

She tilted her head at the photo, he looked more like a CEO then a criminal. Then again CEO's just like criminals, except they managed to trick people into thinking what they did was legal. Darius tapped the photo with a strange amount of awe and reverence. "Roman the Romanian… the brains. This guy is all business from what I know…" Darius said, hesitantly. Tony picked up on that and barked in before Corey could. "What you know? How much do you actually know about this guy?" Tony asked. Darius gave a grimace, which worried Corey. "Not a lot… actually. Only from people who talked to people. He's got a stick jammed up his ass, and he doesnt give a shit about anything or anyone that isnt about making money, unless you show him disrespect." Darius said. "Respect…?" She asked. Darius nodded. "Yea, he's chill, until you disrespect him… then he gets nasty." Darius said.

Tony snorted, unimpressed. "So what? I can get pretty nasty myself." Tony said. Darius shrugged. "Yea, we noticed… Thats all I know, one's smart, ones strong, they both got a mean streak a mile long." Darius admitted with a shrug. Tony scoffed. "Why we going after the piss ant drug dealer and not the Russians?" Tony growled. Darius shook his head. "What you got a death wish? We cant make a plan to hit the Russian mob in an afternoon, what are you crazy?" Darius said. Tony scoffed, but said nothing more.

Corey placed her hands on the desk and leaned over the photo of Conrad. "Why him?" Corey asked. Darius looked down at Conrad's photo in disgust. "This guy turned his back on the streets, on the country! He's working for the Reds. Thats why we're sending him a message." Darius answered. Tony slammed a fist down onto the desk. "And I say we kill him!" Tony yelled. Darius shook his head. "And I say, you cant send a message if the guys dead. We get him to break his alliance with the Russians, the dealers know we arent dealing with the Reds. We kill him, Roman will just put one of his guys in his place, maybe Viktor himself."

Tony shook his head. "Then we just kill him too." Tony grumbled. Darius shook his head in annoyance and Tony turned his gaze away towards the wall. Corey watched the two in silence for awhile before continuing. "So whats the plan…?" Corey asked. Darius blinked, glancing at the front door of the office building, before looking back to Corey. "You two go in there, and bust them up, send them a message, but dont kill them, you got that?" Darius said. He looked at Corey when he said this, but he clearly was speaking to Tony.

Corey shrugged. "Is that it? We go in and… bust them up?" Corey asked, unimpressed. Darius sighed in frustration. "Look, what more do you want from me? I brought you the research we've done, brought you next door from a real piece of shit, what more do you two psycho's want? A blueprint of the crack house?" Darius said, clearly frustrated. Corey nodded calmly. "Thanks… guess this will be enough… why is Conrad here anyway?" Corey said, glancing at the boarded up windows. Darius smiled proudly. "Oh, he comes here every week, gives out free samples to any teenage piece of tail that will take the bait. He's been with the same one the last three weeks, he's probably up there with the little chicken head now." Darius said, clearly proud of his intel.

Corey glanced down at the picture of Conrad again. "I guess he'll do… but we can hurt him, right?" Corey asked. Tony sneered at Corey from behind his mask. "You asking permission? From him!? The only one stopping you from hurting or killing anyone, is **you** Corey!" Tony said, sticking his thick, calloused- finger in her face. Corey gritted her teeth angrily, her calm, cool front melting to betray her anger. Tony just sneered more and turned away from her, turning his fiery glare to the picture of the men he was told not kill.

Corey glanced at his fists, once again, they were vibrating with pent up desire. He was right of course, even if was being an ass. Darius was not going with them. It was up to them to decide what they did when they breached the doors. It was up to Corey to decide if she would try and stop Tony from killing anybody. If someone had to be sacrificed, so they could transform, this Conrad creep would do…

She kept her eyes focused on Tony. At first he glared back at her, as if challenging her to try and change his mind. She kept her cool gaze focused on Tony, before giving him a small, subtle nod. Tony's fiery eyes squinted, trying to decipher the meaning of her gesture. Corey turned back to Darius before speaking, but she kept her gaze sidelong on Tony. "Ok Darius… we do it your way… right Tony?" She said softly.

Tony looked at Darius, then back at Corey. "Fine… whatever, lets just do this already." Tony said in aggravation. Corey wasnt sure if Tony understood. "I'll follow your lead…" Corey said to Tony, in a meaningful voice. Tony just narrowed his eyes.

She couldnt help but feel that familiar thrill begin to overtake her. She had made her decision, to cast her lot with a savage maniac. She would have to be crazy to do such a thing, but it was already done, her mind was made up. Her head swam with emotions, and she loved every moment of it. She ignored all common sense, all reservations and decided to go with whatever happened next. Only one thing was certain. Life for Corey, was about to change. How she would change with it, was the only thing she could control from here on out. She was swept away with the current, and Tony was the one steering the boat.


	10. Chapter 10

Cory followed Tony's lead like an expectant puppy, as they crept through the filthy alleyway. The burning desire that had been building as the days rolled by had changed for Tony. He felt almost sedated, and something that felt like anxiety, or even fear, gnawed at his gizzards. _"But why?"_ He wanted this. Every atom of his being wanted to go into this building and bust some heads. He wanted to become the living weapon he molded himself to be… but something was eating at him, nibbling a hole into the bottom of his stomach and leaking his aggressive energy. He ground his teeth in frustration. He didnt know what the fuck was wrong with him, but he had to power through it. He couldnt back down now. Failure was not an option. It was do-or-die time for Tony and Corey. Time to prove he was more then the posers sending him on his non lethal mission.

He glanced down at a bum, shivering with withdrawals. The bum looked up, blankly at first, before his eyes went wide with terror. Tony glared down at him, through the jagged eye holes of his ripped up tiger mask. The bum covered his eyes with his hands and rocked himself back and forth as they passed him by. Corey hesitated briefly, watching the man for a moment before returning to follow in Tony's wake, doing her best impersonation of his shadow.

Tony stopped at the rusted, rotten door leading to the side entrance of the drug den, where their "target" was. He was supposedly banging some piece of jail bait, while his goons kept the junkies and the dealers supplied with their drug of choice. Tony leaned against the wall next to the door as Corey moved passed him and took her place on the other side. Tony scowled. The thought of what the inside of the building contained unnerved him. Junkeys wallowing in their weakness, dealers sucking their health and potential from them, as the king ass hole himself, was ensnaring some idiot kid with her own daddy issues. It all made Tony angry just thinking about it. These fuckers needed to die.

It was a refreshing sensation for Tony, to have the familiar hot and furious energy begin to bubble and burn in his stomach and chest. He was beginning to worry some absurd things. That anxiety had finally managed to get to him, revealing a weakness where none should exist. _"_ _No."_

Tony submerged himself into the furious rage building in his heart like he was slipping into a warm bath. He felt the familiar warmth pump from his heart, and down into the veins of his arms and legs. It was the adrenaline, the natural high and excitement his own body produced, and it had produced this much out of the anticipation alone. It was almost time, just behind this door, was the cure to what ailed him, the release he needed. There was only one thing standing in his way… Corey.

Tony looked to Corey and she looked at him right back. Her dark brown eyes uncharacteristically alive and flickering with excitement, opposed to their usual cloudy, distant state. Tony grit his teeth in anger, as he thought of Darius and his bullshit instructions. "You know that idiot is as phony as they come right?" Tony growled in a low voice. Corey only tilted her head at that, so Tony continued. "He pretends like he knows the streets, but he's full of shit. I know the streets, and I know what he said was bullshit. We go in there, slap them around with kid gloves, it wont do anything but get us killed." Tony said, waiting for Corey to protest.

Corey watched Tony for what felt like a long time. She stared at him like she was trying to look into his soul or some shit. Tony narrowed his brow. "What?" He finally asked. "Yea you're right… you should do what you think is best." Corey said in a soft, careful manner. Tony's body stiffened, his stomach twisted with anxiety. " _What the hell_ _did she_ _say?"_ She was supposed to be the cautious one, always over planning and over thinking. " _What the fuck_ _is she trying to pull here?"_

He kept his face carefully expressionless, as she kept her studious eyes on him. "I mean… whatever you do in there… I'll back you up." Corey said, her eyes becoming distant. Tony's mind exploded with inner dialogue. _"_ _Does she want to waste them too? Does she need me to be the one to draw first blood? For me to cross the line you cant come back from, first?"_ Tony felt his stomach gurgle with nervous energy.

"Fuck… you know I want too let loose in there… but we kill someone, that Darius bitch will just cut us off and we'll be back to where we started!" Tony said, snarling out in annoyance. Corey blinked, seemingly taken back by that statement. Tony felt his stomach churn even more, as he felt Corey's suspicion. "What? Your the one always telling me to play nice with him!" Tony half yelled, half whispered. Corey's eyes flickered with uncertainty, as she did her best to search for words, words that never came. Tony's face trembled in frustration. _"_ _She cant kill anyone, unless I do it first! Why is it up to me to do all the dirty work?!_ _F_ _ucking_ _ **useless!**_ _"_

Tony's eyes dilated, his fists clenched so hard, he felt the bones of his fingers creak under the strain. He felt the white hot rage seeping from his chest and overwhelm him. _"_ _If it wasnt for me she'd still be in that fucking basement. I brought us this far, only for her to look down on me now? Fuck that… and fuck her too!"_

"Fuck this shit!" Tony hissed leaning his masked face up against hers, causing her to recoil in defense. Tony turned to the door. His adrenaline was pumping through his body and lighting up his brain. It fueled his every movement. Tony was done talking. He was done thinking. It was time for action. Time to tear these bitches apart.

The door exploded off its hinges, as he brought his rage driven foot through it like some medieval battering ram. He rushed through the doorway, like a raging bull, his hazel-orange eyes burning with a challenge for any mother fucker to try and stop him. The room was full of junkeys laying or sitting on the ground, or trying to score free hits from the dealer in the center who held a plastic baggy full of brightly colored pills in his hand.

They all stared at the blood stained mask, wide eyed, frozen in disbelief. Tony roared through gritted teeth, that clacked with furious energy as he fell upon them. The first junkey in his way only had time to throw up his hands to defend himself before Tony's fist slammed into his ribs. Tony saw the look of shock twist into agony, as he felt the tweaker's bones crack against his knuckles. He was pulling his punches, and **still** their bones broke under his blows.

He threw the injured junkey to the side, who landed face down onto the concrete ground before whimpering in pain. The second junkey didnt even react, he just stared at him frozen in disbelief, before Tony swung his fist across his jaw. The junkey's eyes rolled into the back of his head, as Tony's fist dislocated his mandible, and he collapsed face first against the hard floor.

Tony felt a primal pleasure well up inside his body. These pussies couldnt do anything to stop him, he could have done anything he wanted to them, and they powerless. He was god to them. His brain was on overdrive. He moved from junkey to junkey, like a blur of muscle and rage. He wasnt a man anymore, he was a fucking force of nature, disaster incarnate. Tony didnt know what the feeling rushing through is mind was, but he knew he needed more of it.

One of the junkey's actually had the courage to tackle him. He slammed his shoulder against Tony's waist, pushing against him with all of his might, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Tony didnt so much as budge, before snorting in disgust, and slamming his fist down against the man's back, knocking the wind from his body. Tony gripped the stunned junkey around the shoulders and chest, before pivoting his body to the side, using all of his might to throw the junkey across the room. The junkey's back slammed against the drywall, denting a torso sized hole through it, before landing with a bounce against the floor.

A junkey woman ran screaming for the door Tony emerged from, only to have him thrust an arm out, close lining her across the chest and sweeping her from her feet. She landed on her back so hard, the wind rushed from her lungs and out between her lips in a tortured cry, before she hacked and hyperventilated on the ground like a flopping fish, yanked from the water and thrown onto shore.

Tony heard footsteps approach him from behind, and had enough time to turn and see a large tramp, with long unkempt hair and a straggly beard, swinging a lead pipe at his head. He caught the weapon in his hand, before swinging his fist in a vicious hook, into the tramps face. Blood and teeth splattered from the homeless junkey's mouth, as he turned half way around and collapsed face first onto the hard concrete floor.

Tony threw the pipe down against the hard floor, making it bounce and skitter across the concrete, as he roared up into the ceiling, in bestial triumph. Tony felt a warm burning sensation in his brain. _"More…_ _I need more!"_

Tony turned to the dealer who stood a few feet in front of him. The dealer had managed to move one hand to the handle of a shiny snub nosed revolver, he had stuffed in the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, but now he just stood there, like a statue, to horrified to move. Tony threw his arms back and down at his sides, his fingers curled like hate filled claws, as he thrust his upper body foreword. His words roared from his bared teeth. " **Come** **on!** " Tony screamed in challenge at the man.

The man turned before breaking into a full panicked run. He drew his pistol as he cried out in horror, sprinting as fast as he could from the big bad Tony. Tony ran after him, quickly closing the gap like a tiger closing in on its prey. The dealer managed to reach a bedroom just as Tony approached, and darted inside, turning to slam the door shut on Tony.

Tony punched his fist straight through the cheap door, his fist coming within inches of the terrified dealers face. The dealer staggered back a step and threw his arms out to defend himself, to overcome with fear to use the gun still clenched uselessly in the cowards hand. Tony felt the man's hand brush across his fist, on the other side of the door. He gripped the dealer by the wrist from the hole on the other side of the door and squeezed tightly.

The dealer had enough time to give Tony's hand a mortified look, before Tony yanked his body through the fist sized hole he made, tearing the dealers body through the door and ripping the cheap door in half. Tony let the man fall onto his side, before stamping his foot onto his wrist, grinding the heel of his cowboy boot tightly against the complicated bones, feeling them strain underfoot.

The dealer dropped the revolver from his pinned hand, before pleading up at Tony like a pathetic worm. "Please, stop, please!" He whimpered. Tony growled down at the man in disgust. He was already broken, there wasnt even a point to fucking him up anymore, the pussy had already given up. No sport in kicking beaten dog when its down.

Tony's body stiffened as he sensed the footsteps on the stairway to the left of him. Before he could turn he heard the sound of a semi automatic pistol being cocked back. Survival instincts overrode Tony's body. He darted backwards through the shattered doorway as the sounds of gunshots from the stairs leading up rang out in his ears. Drywall shattered from the wall where the 9mm rounds landed, sending pieces of the chalky white surface to fly into his face. He blinked as he felt the white, crumbly material splash against the mask, and into his eye. He turned around, his right eye still closed tightly, and waited, hoping the gunman would make the mistake to come into the room and into arms reach.

Tony felt his heart thud in his chest, like it was trying to break its way free of his body, but the gun totting thug wasnt taking the bait. Tony crept to the side of the door frame, and quickly peaked his head through before jerking it back. The thug fired off a shot, the bullet slamming into the wall where Tony had stuck out his head. _"_ _That was stupid…"_ Even so, in that brief moment he had managed to get a read on the gunman's location. He had climbed down the steps but hadnt approached much further then that. Tony ground his teeth together in frustration, he was trapped in this damn room.

Tony saw a blur of aqua green, moving so fast he barely had time to comprehend what it was. As the thug ran to the side of the door to get a better angle, Corey had rushed to the gunman's side. She swung the lead pipe in her arms, slamming it against the man's knee. The thug's upper body toppled against the ground, as his knee buckled and the grotesque sound of the man's kneecap shattering echoed against the walls.

The thug screamed in pain, through gritted teeth, and tried to roll to his side, and level his pistol up at Corey. Her long black hair flowed through the air from the back of her mask as she descended upon the man in an almost mesmerizing fashion. Tony couldnt help but feel a swell of admiration, as she swung the pipe down against the thugs forearm, falling upon him like a zebra striped bird of prey. The first strike knocked the gun from the thugs hand, the second blow broke the man's arm at the elbow, as he shielded his head from the blows. Through gritted teeth, the thug screamed up at Corey, as he writhed on the ground. "Dirty mother-fucker…!" Corey tilted her head as she stood over him, studying his movements and facial expressions.

Tony emerged from the doorway, glaring down at the thug. This was his moment, and that fucking guy ruined it, causing Corey to come storming in to save the day. She probably thought she had just saved Tony's life, that he needed her help. The thought burned in Tony's mind as his heart twisted with hatred. Tony embraced the feelings, it only made him stronger.

He watched Corey loom over the thug, the metal pipe held low at her side. Tony knew, she was feeling it too, the rush of adrenaline and power, pumping from the heart and brain and flowing through every part of the body. He clenched his fists tightly in frustration. It was her time now, he had to wait his turn.

The thug's eyes moved up and down Corey's shapely, athletic legs, and the swelling of her hips, the only parts of her feminine form not shrouded in her Miami dolphins starter jacket, and zebra mask. "Holy shit… your a chick? Oh you better kill me, you fucking bitch cuz if I find you…" The thug snarled. Corey swung the pipe down onto the thug, who managed to block the blow to his head with the only extremity available to him, his broken arm. The thug screamed in agony, curling up into the fetal position, bracing himself for any further assaults. Corey stood over him, the lead pipe cocked back in her arms, ready to bring one end of it straight down into the thug's skull. Tony found himself holding his breath, watching Corey as she stood frozen in that position, waiting to see if she would do it. Tony cursed at himself silently, for behaving like an excited child. She would either do it or she wouldnt. There wasnt anything to to get all giddy over, he decided.

Corey dropped the pipe next to the curled up thug, who flinched at the sound of the metal ringing against the concrete. Corey turned to Tony, looking up at him expectantly. Tony narrowed his eyes. He wasnt sure what she wanted from him. A pat on the head, a compliment? The last thing he needed was Corey getting a big head. So she's fast, and nimble, so what? Tony wasnt about to let the girl show him up. Tony grunted and turned to the stairway. "You had your fun, the VIP… he's **mine!** " Tony declared angrily, a competitive flame beginning to drown out his other emotions. Corey glanced at the stairway with a cool, nonchalant gaze, before shoving her hands in the side pockets of her starter jacket. "I got your back." She said calmly.

Tony furiously stormed up the steps, while Corey slowly crept behind. He stopped and looked around at his surroundings. A hallway, with several rooms on either sides of it. He narrowed his brow as he looked at the doors in frustration. As Tony reached out to open a door at random, Corey slunk passed him. She held up a finger, signaling for him to keep quite. Tony crossed his arms and waited impatiently, as Corey methodically stalked through the hallway, placing each foot ahead of the other. Tony rolled his eyes as he watched her.

Corey stopped, less then halfway down the hall and cocked her head to the side. Tony watched her with peaked interest, as she leaned towards the door on her right and listened for sounds on the other side of the door. She glanced back to him and gestured with one finger, for him to come. Tony grunted and quietly walked behind her.

She had turned back to the door, and didnt react to him approaching. He leaned over and glared at her through the eye hole of her zebra mask, until she finally glanced back at him. "In there?" He whispered, to which Corey shrugged. Tony took a step back and twitched with pent up frustration, his fists vibrating with rage. She tapped the side of her head, trying to communicate something to him, but Tony didnt have time for twenty questions. He violently shoved past her and moved to the front of the door. Corey threw a hand up in a silent protest, but Tony didnt give a shit. He slammed his shoulder through the door and broke it open, charging through the breached doorway without hesitation.

Tony stopped in his tracks and straightened. Before him was the tattooed dirt bag, Conrad. Like Darius predicted, he was with some painted up, teenage slut. Except instead of having the teen earn some free hits, with those clown red lips, he was holding her against himself like a human shield, a snub nosed .38 held tightly against her temple. She looked up at Tony, her eyes wide with terror. Lines of mascara were streaked down her cheeks by fearful tears. Her body trembled against Conrad's body, like a tiny leaf against the wind.

Tony ignored her completely, and kept his hate filled eyes focused on his prey, with as much intensity as a starving tiger watching a wounded gazelle. Everything in Tony's life had been leading to this moment, and it was almost over. This bald piece of shit was the last crumb, the last morsel, for a meal years in the making. Tony radiated with violent energy, his body tense and ready to explode at the man at any moment. The only reason he hadnt already charged through Conrad and his painted up meat shield, was so he could savor this moment. The last bit of violent action before another drought of unbearable inactivity.

Tony bared his teeth under his ripped up mask, as the bald drug supplier withered under his violently longing glare. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, as he pushed the revolver against his human shields head, causing her to whimper and close her eyes tightly. Tony snorted at him, and glanced down at the man's hand. Even though he was pushing the barrel of the gun so hard against the teenagers head, it was causing her pain, but he could barely keep the gun in place, his hands were trembling so much.

Tony raised his furious gaze as the tattooed scumbag began to speak. "Take one more step… and Ill blow her brains out!" Conrad said, trying his best to assert what little control he had over the situation, or rather, what little control he **thought** he had. Tony took a slow, purposeful step foreword, his body as tense as a tightly wound spring waiting to snap. Conrad took a half step backwards, pressing himself up against the wall and window behind him. He was as far away from Tony as physically possible without breaking through the glass and droping down the eighteen foot drop. Tony would just hunt his crippled ass down in the streets if he tried that shit.

"I mean it… I'm going to kill her." Conrad said, his voice cracking. Tony glared back at the man before responding in a gruff, dangerous voice. "Yea? Well I dont give a shit." Tony said. Conrad stiffened, his eyes widened in terror, as Tony took another step closer. Tony's wasnt afraid, if she died, she died. If he turned his gun at him, he'd be on him before he could even squeeze off a shot.

Tony couldnt wait any longer, he erupted foreword from where he stood, roaring through clenched teeth. His entire body directed towards his target, like a fury guided rocket. Conrad threw the teen by her head and hair foreword, into Tony. He slammed the back of his hand against the teens head, knocking her out of the way, sending her crashing against the wall.

Conrad's eyes were wide with terror as he leveled the gun, but Tony was too fast. Tony's shoulder slammed into the bald headed dirt bag like a freight train, slamming him against the wall. Conrad's back and shoulders smashing a hole into the drywall, while his left arm smashed through the window, sending droplets of blood and glass shards raining down on the sidewalk below. Tony kept his forearm pressed tightly against the dazed drug suppliers chest, keeping him propped up, as Tony's fiery, orange hazel eyes burned into his.

Tony turned and threw the tattooed punk onto the ground. Conrad landed in front of the smashed open doorway with a heavy crash, his left arm breaking under the force of the impact. The gun slid from his right hand and skittered through the doorway just before Corey reached a foot out and caught the gun under her shoe. She stuffed her hands nonchalantly in her aqua green jacket as she. She turned her head to the side, as she shifted her gaze from the gun held under her foot, to the man coughing and moaning on the ground in front of her, finding it clearer to peer out through the zebra mask, one eye at a time.

Tony stomped towards the downed drug supplier, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and hoisting him to his feet as if he were weightless. The drug supplier only groaned in pain, as Tony grabbed him by the back of his bald head and squeezed. Tony clenched his teeth tightly. The man was beaten, broken. There was no more action to be had, and there was nothing planned after this.

An intense frustration erupted inside of Tony. He had been waiting, for weeks, for months, years if you counted the time he spent sculpting his body… and it was already over. The used up piece of shit couldnt even fight for his life, he hung limp in his arms. His lips were moving, muttering something that could have been begging or even praying. _"Pathetic…_ _"_

Tony was done here, but he was far from satisfied. He got a taste of what he wanted, downstairs as he ripped through the mobs of junkeys and bums, as he crashed through them like a tidal wave of destruction… but it was only a taste. Conrad moaned in pain, as Tony's fingers squeezed tighter, reacting to the violent mood brooding within. And then, something snapped inside Tony.

Tony slammed Conrad's bald, tattooed face against the wooden door frame with all of his might. That was when he felt something shift in his hands. For a brief moment, he felt the man's skull change shape, like an unwholesome click resonating through his hand. Tony's eyes widened in realization… he had just killed the man.

He immediately released his iron grip and took a step back from what he had done. Conrad slid from the door frame and fell to a sitting position, before flopping onto his back. Tony didnt want to look down, but he knew he had too. His eyes glanced down, and saw the pool of red bubbling from what used to be a man's face. He quickly looked back up. He had seen enough. The consuming fury inside of him had evaporated all at once, leaving only the empty realization… he was now a killer.

Tony had never killed a man before, even though he had thought about it many times. Even back in the war, he fired his rifle, kept his head down from getting chromed by a bullet, but he didnt have a single confirmed kill. He was just a big brute who was out of place in a uniform and following orders. He would talk tough, put anyone in their place who talked shit about him behind his back, but truth be told, he was a shitty soldier. He thought giving into his frustration and anger, would be a relieving experience, but in doing so, he just ended someones life. _"_ _And for what?"_

Tony stepped over the body and barely realized he was staring in Corey's direction. He reluctantly met her gaze and grimaced at what he saw. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, or surprise… but amazement. She was happy Tony killed that man. He felt the anxiety grow in the pit of his stomach, and wanted nothing more then to leave the room, the building, and the broken man behind him, but Corey was standing in his way.

"What?!" Tony snapped at Corey, in frustration. Corey didnt react, instead she continued to stare at him in astonishment, before lowering her gaze to the dead man on the floor. "You… killed him." Corey said, her voice reverent, barely whisper. Tony felt a pang of guilt blossom in his chest, so he forced it back down, focusing instead on his annoyance. He threw his arms to the side belligerently. "Yea? So fucking what? I said I was going to kill him, you knew I would!" He snarled at Corey.

Corey let his hostility roll off her like water off a ducks back. She moved her curious but cautious look onto Tony's eyes for several moments. She waited for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking. "What did it feel like…?" Corey whispered in a shuddering breath.

Tony shoved his way passed her, before turning and barking out his response. "Nothing, it feels like he's dead, so what? Its what the fucker deserves, hiding behind some bitch instead of taking the shot! I'm glad he's fucking dead." Tony said, storming off. He stopped at the stairwell, and turned to glance back at Corey. She was standing there in the hallway, still staring at what Tony had done.

Tony gritted his teeth. "Corey! Get your fucking ass over here! Do you wanna get caught? Fine, stay here until the cops come you fucking idiot!" Tony snarled at her. Corey glanced over at Tony, her actions unnervingly cool and collected, before looking down at her feet, at the puddle of blood growing and reaching out towards her shoes. She took a step back, just as the blood would have touched her foot and turned to follow Tony's trail.

Tony looked down at the floor, at the trail of blood red foot prints he didnt realize he had left behind. He turned and stomped down the steps, finding a piece of cardboard, one of the junkies was probably using as a makeshift bed, and wiped his feet angrily. Corey approached behind him, her hands still calmly tucked in her starter jacket. "Lets go." She said.

Corey and Tony were silent the taxi ride back to her apartment. Their masks were kept in plastic grocery bags, so Tony could see Corey's face for the first time, for what felt like years. Tony kept his eyes narrowed, and his jaw hardened, staring straight ahead the entire ride. Only twice did he glance off to the side in Corey's direction. Both times he caught her staring at him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to pretend she wasnt gawking at him like an idiot school girl.

Tony kept his eyes foreword. When the taxi pulled up to Corey's building, Tony glanced down at his red stained fingers, poking out from the black finger-less gloves her wore. He wanted nothing more then to wash his hands right now.

Tony followed Corey up into her apartment silently brooding to himself. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Tony followed, but Corey blocked his path. She stopped and turned around to face him. Her lips were slightly parted as she watched Tony thoughtfully, as she did her best to mentally form her upcoming questions. Tony squeezed his hand into a fist so tightly, he felt his fingernails dig into his palm.

"How do you feel…? Do you feel… different?" Corey asked cautiously. Tony snarled his lips at her. "Different?" Tony asked indignantly. Corey nodded slowly. "Different… now that you… you know…" Tony bared his teeth and took a menacing step towards her, getting his face right up into hers. Corey blinked and leaned back, her eyes widened. "Now that I **killed** someone? Why dont you stop being such a **fucking** **pussy** and find out yourself!?" Tony roared at her. Corey's jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in shock.

Even though he could see the damage his words had on Corey, it still felt good to let it all out. Against his better judgment, he kept going. "Dont think I didnt notice… "Oh Ill follow your lead Tony… whatever you think is best Tony" you couldnt do it yourself, so you had to have **me** do it, why? Why Corey!?" Tony yelled, taking another step closer, pushing his face against hers.

Corey had closed her mouth at this point, her stormy eyes were flickering between what looked like sorrow and anger, like she couldnt decide which emotion was stronger. Tony's upper lip quivered as his spite filled words stabbed from his lips at her. "Because you're to much of a **coward** to do anything about it… you weak, pathetic little **fan girl!** " Tony said, spittle spattering from between his clenched teeth.

Corey's eyes became expressionless. Her entire face looked numb. She no longer looked at him, she was looking off to the side at nothing in particular. Tony pushed passed her into her apartment. He didnt want to feel sorry for what he said, they both knew it was true. He didnt say anything he should regret.

Tony barged through the bathroom door and cranked the hot water nob on full blast. He ran his hands under the hot water, vigorously scrubbing the blood from his hands. His face was smeared with a deep disgusted scowl, his eyes were dark, as he scrubbed and scrubbed.

Red water swirled around the drain, from his fingers, wrists, and gloves. He pulled his gloves free and threw them into the bathtub, pushing his hands back into the now scalding water. He felt the pain blossom in his hands, as steam clouded his vision, and fogged the bathroom mirror, but still he kept scrubbing.


	11. Chapter 11

"Keep your eyes closed… no peeking!" Alex said cheerfully. Mark let out a deflated sigh, as he reluctantly obeyed. Alex had insisted he put his hands over his eyes like a damn child while they prepared… whatever it was they had in store for him. Truth be told, Mark didnt want to uncover his eyes. He was sure whatever it was she and her brother had in store for him, it was going to be awful. Mark took the time to reflect over the events that brought him here, of his pent up aggression he had unleashed on some Russian trash, but mostly of the last week he spent as Alex and Ash's… "guest"

After revealing the way he was to pay the twins back, Mark did what any sane adult would. He tried to weasel his way out of it. After all but kidnapping Mark, driving him back to their apartment against his wishes, they had took turns keeping him company. He briefly remembered it was originally "for his safety" in case any of the mobsters figured out their comrades were missing, and had connected the dots to Mark somehow. His situation had long since escalated. He was trapped in a house with two people he suspected more and more, of being psychopathic killers.

It was worse then just being trapped in a house with them, they were playing house. Alex especially, had been doing some kind of "perfect hostess" routine. In reality, they had been doing the shopping with his credit card, feeding him instant and boxed meals. Despite all of Alex's the matronly mannerisms she adopted, the woman didnt seem to know how to make anything that didnt involve a microwave.

His "master suite" was a spot on the couch, while Ash slept on the love seat. To make matters worse, every time Alex left for work, or when Ash when out job hunting, one of them staid behind to keep him company by probing his mind for information. It was as if the darkest, most awful moment in his life was some kind of case study to them. Mark wasnt sure if there was a heaven or hell before, but after spending over a week with the sociopath twins, he was certain the universe was punishing him.

"Ok Mark, open your eyes!" Alex chirped. Mark hesitated a long while, keeping his hands tightly in place. "Common man, dont make me pistol whip you." Ash teased, or so Mark hoped. He slumped his shoulders in defeat before removing his hands. Mark grunted in dismay and closed his eyes again, as he got a glimpse of the spectacle front of him. It was just as awful as he thought it would be.

Alex and Ash were dressed in head too toe in what Mark could only assume was their murder costumes. They wore matching swan masks, the only thing that differentiated them was a purple number 1 and number 2 written on the foreheads of the otherwise identical masks. It took Mark a moment to realize who was who, since their matching outfits covered them from head to toe.

They wore neon green shirts underneath bulky form hiding football pads. The athletic armor made their bodies look equally bulky and Mark noticed additional padding over Alex's biceps. Mark wondered if the added padding was for protection from physical blows, or to make her arms look more masculine to better mimic her brother's shape.

The other differences he noticed, besides the 1 over Alex's masked forehead, and Ash's 2, was the color of their shoulder pads. Alex's was green, like the rest of the padding, but Ash's shoulder pads were painted bright orange, matching the orange knee pads they both wore over their simple blue jeans. Other then that, Alex sported her chainsaw that she held proudly in a somehow graceful pose, with her shoulders back, her head tilted downwards, the saw held in front of her at an upward angle. Ash stood next to his sister's back, hovering near her like a guardian angel. Like his sis, he posed with his weapon, a gun Mark recognized as a glock model 17, a 9mm pistol, that he held upwards by his masked head.

Mark stared at the twins in silence, for what felt like minutes, as they remained statue still in their poses. Alex was the one to finally break the silence. "Well?" She said suddenly, the impatience in her her voice impossible for Mark to miss. Mark blinked and looked back and forth between the two of them dumbfounded. He had no idea what they expected him to say about this. Well, he assumed they wanted him to be pleased somehow and beaming with positive reinforcement. He decided to humor them.

"Oh, you two look great." Mark said, nodding. Alex and Ash both let their weapons sink to down to their sides in eerie unison. "Great huh…?" Ash said, an unnerving suspicion in his voice. Mark felt his knee begin to bob up and down against his will. "Yea well, I dont know what else you want me to add, you both look good." Mark quickly said. The two swans glanced at one another, before looking back to Mark. "Good…?" Alex said, her voice brimming with disappointment. This of course caused Mark's anxiety to worsen.

He gave a fake laugh and a forced smile. "Yea I mean… if you guys could maybe give me a hint at what you want me to say…" Mark said. Alex thrust the saw blade towards Mark's face suddenly, making him flinch and lean back on the love seat. "We're supposed to look fucking scary Mark!" Alex said, reminding Mark of a spoiled brat who didnt get the right Barbie for her birthday. Ash shook his head and chimed along. "Yea, scary and cool… you dont like how the football pads make us look like we're both like the same build and stuff?" Ash said, gesturing to where the padding covered their upper chests and shoulders.

Mark shrugged nervously. "Look, I didnt say you didnt look cool, and you both definitely scare me…" Mark said, far more truthful then he originally intended. Alex pulled up her mask and beamed at him. "Really? Your not just saying that right…? We worked really hard on these costumes!" Alex said. Ash, likewise, lifted his mask up and watched Mark inquisitively, not nearly as excited as his sister, but genuinely curious to hear Mark's honest opinion. Mark nodded reassuringly. "Yea I mean it… I wouldnt want to run into the two of you in a dark alley." Mark said. The twins smiled in what Mark took to be a mixture of relief and satisfaction.

"So uh… why are you showing me this?" Mark asked, trying his best to sound casual. The twins glanced at one another in puzzlement. "Why do you think?" Ash answered, giving him an incredulous look. He felt his stomach gurgle with anxious energy. "Look… we've been through this…" He said, dropping his eyes to the floor. Alex scoffed and shook her head. "No, you've been living in denial since you got here!" Alex said indignantly. Mark grit his teeth in frustration, while Ash took a step towards him. "And we dont need to remind you that you owe us… you really, **really** owe us." Ash said matter of fact.

Mark's teeth clacked together briefly from anxiety, as he racked his brain for something to say. "Look… I keep telling you…" Mark said, before Alex set her chainsaw down onto the ground with a loud thud, cutting Mark off. "We're not interested in hearing from Mark… we wanna talk to the bear." Alex said, pointing at Mark's bear mask they had left on the end table in front of the tv, a constant reminder to Mark of what he had done. He glanced at the dark eye holes of the empty mask. It was the face of enraged surrender, of his brutal release. He shivered and turned away from it angrily. Mark looked back up at the twins, his teeth clenched in frustration.

"Look, I'm not like you two, I'm not a fucking psycho! I dont want to hurt anybody, I dont!" Mark said desperately. He fidgeted, as the twins just stared at him, their faces unemotional, for the longest time. Ash turned and glanced at his sister, who nodded as if affirming what it was her brother was about to say, even before he said them. Mark braced himself for whatever speech they had in store for him.

"Mark… you dont just come back from that kind of violence like nothing happened…" Ash said gently. Mark felt his skin crawl as Ash's words entered his ears. He shook his head, not wanting to even entertain the idea, but Ash continued. "Whatever your intentions, you have something big and violent inside you. Normal people dont have that level of violence in them. It's something strange and scary to most people… We know this, because we're just like you." Ash said, giving Mark a reassuring smile.

Mark's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, appalled by the notion. "I am nothing like you two, **nothing!** You two talk about killing like its some kind of game! You wanna kill just to kill! I got backed into a corner, and I lost it. Thats all, you-you… fucking psychos!" Mark said through watery eyes and clattering teeth. He felt an intense rage well up inside of him. He knew it was ironic to feel such familiar feelings now when trying to argue his sanity, but he couldnt help it. He knew he was not like them, and even if he was, he wouldnt allow himself to be, he couldnt.

Ash hardened his jaw and glared back at Mark. A strong sense of unease fell upon him as he noticed a dark shift in the twins composures. He felt an icy chill as they glared back at him, a cold silent wrath emanated from their bodies like a toxic aura. Mark's stomach burned as if it was filled with acid, as he saw Ash's finger move to the trigger of his pistol. "Fine… but you still owe us Mark." Ash said, his voice grim and sober. Mark flinched as he carefully worded his next sentence. "I understand… but…" Mark started, but was quickly interrupted. Ash stepped foreword, one of his fists clenched into a ball, the other one still stroked the trigger of his pistol with a terrifying longing. "No buts Mark, we are way passed excuses… we pulled your ass from the fire, if it wasnt for us, you'd still be there, hugging your knees to your chest, waiting for some Russian to torture you to death. Try to tell me I'm wrong!" Ash said in a quite, but angry voice.

Mark knew it was unwise to argue with psychopaths, especially when one held a gun at his side… but he couldnt just agree to their demands either. His back was to the wall. "Anything else! I'll give you anything else, just not **that!** You want money? Guns?" Mark yelled, standing up. Ash took another step foreword, the smaller man was less then half of Mark's body mass, yet it was Ash who approached him fearlessly. Mark stood his ground, he would not be roped into the twins's insanity, that would not be his future.

Ash looked Mark up and down, a disgusted sneer stretched across his lips. Finally, he spoke, his words spitting from his lips like tiny daggers aimed for Mark's heart. "The Mark I knew… the big fat fucking pussy I knew…" Ash said. Mark felt his upper lips, his nostrils tremble and snarl, as if trying to separate from the rest of his face. He bared his teeth in a furious scowl, as an internal war raged inside of him on whether or not to bring his fist across Ash's flapping jaw, consequences be damned. Ash watched Mark, taking mental note of his reactions, before raising his pistol suddenly, leveling it at Mark's face.

Mark's entire body tensed, but otherwise, he remained still, his expression as angry as before, even as his narrowed eyes stared cross-eyed down the barrel in front his face. Ash kept the pistol pointed at Mark's head for a moment, studying him all the while, before he continued. "The Mark I knew… would do anything, to avoid confrontation. He would never stand up for himself… he wouldnt be fantasizing about ripping my head off, like you are now." Mark's mind blossomed in realization. Ash was right… he had been thinking about taking his gun and shoving it through Ash's teeth. His fingers were curling just at the thought of it alone. The old Mark would have just went along with the twins ideas, no matter how dangerous, through fear of death, he would do anything in his power to avoid disappointing those around him. The only reason he was standing up to Ash and Alex right now… was the very thing he was trying to resist.

Ash lowered the gun and pointed with his free hand at the rubber mask on the table. "That bear, that mask, that loss of control, whatever it is to you… it changed you Mark. And your going to have to deal with it now." Ash said, softening his tone. Before Ash could continue, however, Alex stepped up to his side and placed a hand on her brother's arm. Ash glanced at Alex who gave him a nod and gestured towards the kitchen. Ash frowned and turned from them, seemingly following his sisters orders and walking towards the spot between the kitchen and the living room. He kept his gun down at his side, and placed his other hand on his hip, as he looked down at the floor, deep in thought.

Alex approached Mark, who stiffened defensively at her presence. She took a seat where Mark had been sitting moments earlier and patted the cushion next to her, signaling him to join her. He sighed through his nostrils and reluctantly sat down next to the crazy blonde.

Mark didnt want to look at her, so he kept his eyes foreword. Finally Alex spoke, patting his broad shoulder with her fingertips. He winced, but didnt pull away. "Mark… you know we're right." Alex said softly. Mark shook his head stubbornly, pulling his body away from her, leaning off to the left. "I dont know that, and it doesnt matter if I did." Mark said insistently. Alex let out a sigh before she continued. "You're trying to hide what you are." Alex said looking off towards her brother. Mark crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So? Doesnt matter does it?" Mark said.

Alex gave Mark a look of pity that managed to unnerve Mark more then Ash's gun in his face. "It does matter…" Alex insisted. Mark turned to look at her, before shaking his head. "It doesnt, if your right about me, I chose to keep it to myself. No one gets hurt that way…" Mark said. Alex raised a brow and stared at Mark as if he had said something preposterous. Mark racked his mind for what he could have said to provoke such a response. When he couldnt find a hole in his logic, he waited for Alex to enlighten him.

"Isnt that what you were already doing…?" Alex said. Mark narrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" The corners of Alex's lips turned ever so slightly, into knowing grin. "You already were keeping it to yourself… and all it took was one bad day and it all came pouring out…" Alex said. Mark felt a horror blossom in his chest, like someone had splashed a bucket of ice water onto his open heart. "Thats not the same!" Mark yelled loudly. Alex raised a brow. "Not the same as what?" She said.

Mark's lips twitched in frustration. "Its not the same… as having some serial killer fantasy!" Mark declared. Alex leaned back against the arm of the sofa. "How is it any different?" She asked, unconvinced. "Do I really need to explain it?" Mark asked, to which Alex simply shrugged. "I killed criminals, Russian mobsters, pieces of human garbage who would have killed me if I gave them the chance!"

"This time it was Russian mobsters, next time… who knows?" Alex said slyly. Mark blinked and shook his head in desperation. "No way! I'm not like that, and I never will be!" Mark said. Alex raised her hands out, trying to calm Mark. "Look, I believe you, ok? But that doesnt prove your different then us… because we're going after the same people! Tell him Ash."

Mark narrowed his brow in confusion, glancing at Ash as he turned to rejoin the conversation. "We've been talking it over with some friends of ours… do remember that Russian heavy you took out, the one who lost his head?" Ash said with a smirk. Mark winced, before glaring. "You know I do…" "Yea, well he is working with a group of Russians that's been branching out into our neighborhood… lately." Ash said.

Mark raised his brow. "What does this have to do with us though?" Mark said. Alex giggled. "We're going to kill them, silly!" She said, giving Mark's stomach a playful poke. He instinctively sucked in his gut and swatted her hand away in irritation. "We're what? No we're not!" Mark said. Alex and Ash exchanged annoyed looks of their own. "Relax Mark… we have it all planned out, its going to be a simple job, get in, kill some drug dealers and mobsters, get out… maybe take any reefer we find on the way out. Win win!" Alex declared happily.

Mark didnt even know where to start. "I… what… whose got it all planned out? Since when did Ash become a mastermind of the streets?" Mark said. Ash shrugged. "I hear things… but I cant take all the credit. We've been getting a lot of info from this cat, Darius." Ash said. Mark narrowed his brow. "Whats his angle?" Mark said. Ash shook his head. "No angle, he's like us. Local celebrity of that bar downtown, The Fan's club." Ash said.

Alex smiled at Mark. "Yea, we thought he was a joke at first, all bark and no bite, but recently he and his crew managed to take down a turn coat drug supplier who was dealing for the Russians!" Alex said excitedly. Mark raised his brow. "They killed a drug dealer working for the mob?" Mark said in astonishment. Ash wagged his finger at Mark before responding. "Ah ah ah, drug supplier, higher up the food chain, dealer of dealers." Ash said. Mark nodded, looking down as he lost himself in thought. "Right right…"

Mark felt a twist in his stomach. It made him sick to admit it, but this was all very interesting for him. He took a few moments to ingest the twin's words. "Your friends… they're a vigilante group?" Mark asked, trying his best to sound indifferent. Alex bit her bottom lip before answering. "Mmm… not really." She said. No sooner then Alex answered, Ash raised a hand, signaling to Alex he'd take over from here. "They arent a true organized group, but a bunch of individuals with similar goals who meet and give each other advice." Ash said with a confident smile. Mark nodded. "And they only kill criminals?" Mark continued warily. Alex smirked and shrugged. "So far." Alex said.

Mark felt his face redden with embarrassment over ever entertaining the notion. Truth was, becoming a real vigilante street cleaner… was always a fantasy of his. His favorite movies were such grind house classics as "Vigilante" "Exterminator" and who could forget "The Toxic Avenger"? Movies about ordinary guys, who decided to become something more, to clean up their cities where no one else had the balls to do so. Maybe the twins were right, and he didnt have an output for whatever beast he had been raising in his chest. As long as it was the right kind of people who wound up shot, he was pretty sure he could live with that.

"Could we uh… meet with these guys?" Mark muttered. He held his breath as he waited for the twin's reaction. "Hell yea!" Alex spouted cheerfully. Ash once again raised a hand, to interject into Alex's sentiment. "Hell yea we can… but these guys… their a tight knit group, for… obvious reasons." Ash said with a slight grimace. Alex, likewise, dawned a reluctant look. "Oh, yea… it would take some work to earn their trust." Alex said sadly.

Mark nodded before responding. "Yea, I get it. Well, what did you two have to do to get in?" Mark asked. Alex raised her brow and glanced towards her brother. Mark followed her gaze and looked up at Ash expectantly. "Well, we didnt really have to do anything, Darius knows us, hell I installed his car stereo." Ash said. Mark shrugged. "Well, what do you have in mind?" As soon as the words escaped Mark's lips, he saw a twinkle in Ash's eyes. He didnt need to turn his head, to look to the side to confirm Alex's eyes shared the eerie glimmer, he could feel the excitement from her body. "Like we were saying… we have been planning a job." Alex said with a sadistic smirk. Mark felt the sickening feeling of dread return in the pit of his stomach.

Mark sat in the back of the van, silently. He was clad, head to toe, in the same equipment he wore during the gun store masssacre. He wore his Kevlar vest over his light blue t shirt. On his lower half he wore a pair of black cargo pants, and his steel toed combat boots. His MP5's, were stuffed inside the black backpack buckled securely to his massive frame. He was wearing nearly everything he wore back then, all but one piece… the mask. He held the enraged bear mask in his hands weakly, staring down at it as if in a trance.

In the front of the van, Ash drove, and Alex sat in the passenger seat. Alex and Ash were positively beaming, chattering excitedly amongst themselves, but not Mark. He was looking down into the empty eye holes of the mask and its bellowing rubber jaws. He felt… empty, listless. He expected to feel more. When he was finally convinced to join the twins in something truly insane, he expected there to be at least be some kind of revelation, but the truth was, he was feeling something very familiar. That tired, exhausted feeling that he usually felt, when his friends and coworkers pressured him to do something against his will… Doing something he didnt want to do because his peers pressured him into doing it anyway was hardly a revelation for Mark… Despite the cheery whooping and crowing from the twins in the front seats. Mark didnt even know how he would be any help to the psycho twins in this state anyway. Putting on the mask now wouldnt mean anything, it would be plain dishonest.

"You still with us back there buddy?" Ash said, looking back at him from the rear view mirror from his swan mask. Both of the twins were fully equipped in their costumes, pads, masks and all. Alex was patting the chainsaw she was cradling between her legs, like some kind of pet monster made of metal and plastic. He couldnt see her face, but he knew she was grinning ear to ear under her mask. Ash continued to glance from the road, to the rear view mirror at him, waiting for his response. Mark nodded unenthusiastically. "Yea… where are we going?" Mark muttered.

Ash and Alex exchanged glances, before Ash answered. "You dont remember? The Russians are gathering at the used car dealership, the "late-great Conrad" used to own. Probably naming a new smack successor." Ash said with a chuckle. Mark nodded sullenly, to which the twins glanced amongst themselves. "You getting cold feet on us?" Ash asked. Mark just shrugged and stared out the window.

They were going on a joyride, that would end with an attempted hit of a drug deal between Russian mobsters. Mark knew in his heart of hearts, if they went through with it, they would all end up dead before the night was out. Mark should have felt something more by now… fear, regret, but no, he just felt hollow. Hollow and something else… Mark probed his mind for the right word to describe the feeling. He smiled bitterly as the word popped into his head.

Powerless. He felt like a hostage, being lead by executioners to the gallows, and he didnt even get a decent last meal. Mark closed his eyes. Perhaps this was all for the best. The twins could have been right about him, he could be just as sick and corrupted as they were, and what better end could the three of them recieve if that was the case? To be shot to pieces in a fool hardy assassination attempt. They wouldn't be around to concoct more hair brain murder schemes, no one else would have to get hurt, and it wasnt like Mark was expecting to have a huge turn out for his funeral either.

Well… Corey might miss him. Mark felt a well of sadness bubble up from his stomach, and his eyes began to water. He never did get to tell Corey how he felt after all this time. Not that it really would have mattered. She never wanted anything more, and Mark should have been content to just leave it at that. He felt his lower lip tremble, as he thought of the times they sat and watched bad movies with one another over a few boxes of pizza and a twenty four back of beer. He wished he could transport himself to one of those moments and cursed himself for not having more of them, because of a one sided feud over his rejected feelings… Rejected feelings he was never brave enough to express to begin with. He felt his hands begin to shake, as the van pulled to a stop.

Mark blinked away his tears and looked around at the surroundings. Ash had parked the van, but kept the engine running. They were next to a car dealership, the target of their planned killing spree. He felt like throwing up. Ash and Alex turned to him in unison. Even through Mark's overwhelming sense of dread, he could feel the giddy, joyous energy radiating off the twins. They were gleeful of the slaughter to come.

"Lock and load big man." Ash said, pulling back the action of his glock, loading a bullet into the chamber and clicking off the safety. "Oh yea!" Alex said, a bloodthirsty craze in her voice, as she held her chainsaw upright, keeping its weight rested on the seat between her lap, as her hands found their way to its handle. Mark reached for his submachine guns and gripped them weakly in his hands, before setting them on his lap. He once again clutched the mask and attempted to put it on, but a cold anxiety kept him from putting it on.

Ash noticed Mark's hesitation. "Common, get your shit ready. Bring out the bear." Ash said. Alex giggled gleefully as her fingers played with the start cord handle of the saw. "Yea! Bring out the bear, bring out the bear!" Alex chanted playfully. Mark glanced at the two masked psychos grimly, before looking back down into the empty eye holes of the mask. This entire trip, he had felt nothing like the bear, he felt more like a pussy. He had given up and was letting the twins push him around, just how he let everyone else in his life push him around. He was sick of it, no more. They wanted the bear, he would give them the bear.

Mark snarled his lips as he slid the mask over his face, the deep seated rage welling up inside of him once again. He gripped the handles of his MP5s and held them firmly in his hands before clicking off the safeties. The twins nodded in approval. "Alright, lets play!" Ash said. "Hell yea!" Alex whooped. They turned back ahead, as Ash began to lay down the battle strategy.

Before Ash could even finish his sentance, Mark raised the MP5s up and pressed them firmly against the head rests in front of him, behind the back of the twins's heads. They stiffened, sensing the weight behind the back of their heads, and the barely audible sound of Mark's fingers placing themselves on the triggers of his weapons.

They slowly turned their heads in unison. When they saw the submachine guns pointed at them, and the bear masked behemoth behind the guns, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, they became very still. For the longest time, no one spoke, only the sounds of Mark's bestial breathing was heard. Mark was the first one to break the silence. "Drop the gun, now." Mark growled. Ash didnt move a muscle. "Why…? You're not going to shoot us." Ash said calmly, though a slight waver betrayed his true emotions.

"I'm the only killer here in this van… your about too become two more notches on my belt… now drop the gun." Mark said gruffly. Ash's body shuddered with emotion, and Mark saw his grip on his gun tighten. Mark held his breath, he didnt want to do it… but he would put a bullet in Ash's head if he moved that gun in any direction but down towards the floor. Ash suddenly released his grip on the pistol, and let it fall the short distance to the floor of the van with a tiny thud.

Mark didnt bother trying to disarm Alex, she chose a clumsy, unwieldy weapon that was more of a danger to herself in the cramped van. Even if she managed to hoist it up and around the seat, Mark would just plug her in the dome the moment she tried to operate the starter crank.

Alex reached up and pulled off her mask, her eyes were wet with tears, her teeth clattering against each other in a mixture of anger and sorrow. "Why are you doing this?" Alex said piteously. "You're ruining everything!" Ash snarled. Mark leaned foreword, bending his arms at the elbows to keep the guns in place. "Take me home." Mark commanded.

Ash lowered his masked head, and Alex stared back at Mark with devastated bewilderment. Mark leaned back, and kept his guns snugly held against the backs of the headrests, behind the backs of their heads. Finally, after the longest, most awkward pause any of them could remember, Ash angrily popped the van into gear and peeled out of the parking spot. Mark lowered his guns, but kept them both pointed at the twins, resting his hands on his lap. Mark knew he was in for a silent, uncomfortable drive, but it beat the alternative.

When they finally pulled up in front of Mark's apartment building, Mark had an awkward moment, where he had to stuff his submachine guns and mask into his back pack, while still keeping it somewhat within reach to pull one of them back out again, or at least enough to shoot Ash through the bag should he force Mark's hand. He sat there for a moment, one hand still holding the handle of one of his MP5s, the rest of it stuffed in the bag cradled between his legs. He reached a hand for the lever of the sliding van door.

Mark didnt know why, but he felt a sudden pang of guilt for what he had done, even though he knew he had essentially saved them all. "Look… I'll make it up-" Mark started to say, before Alex sharply cut him off. "Just go!" She cried. Mark quickly obeyed, sliding the door open immediately and walking from the van with quickened steps. He half expected to hear a loud pop, and feel a pain in his back, but it never happened. The twins sped off, the tires of the van squealing loudly, as if it too was protesting him. Mark sighed and lowered his head after he watched the van speed off. He was emotionally raw, tired, and frustrated… but he knew, he had just dodged a bullet. Mark turned away from the street and entered his apartment building.

 _Earlier_

Roman narrowed his eyes at Dimitri as he sat back in his black leather executive chair that he had purchased to replace the cheap and tacky one the original owners of the club had been using. Dimitri shifted uncomfortably. The young, athletic Russian man nodded, looking off to the side. "Like I said, the wife, the mistress, neither have seen or heard from him. His mistress seemed worried." Dimitri said, looking off to the side.

Dimitri's voice had no traces of an accent. If it wasnt for his white blazer and slacks, few would be able to pick him out as a Russian mobster. Roman knew he had been living in America for longer then he had, he also knew he had a thing for American blondes. Roman didnt really want to know any of this, but his recent forced reliance on the man, as his make shift number two, forced him to pick up these details about the man, essentially elevating him from the rank of nameless goon to an actual associate.

Roman didnt get to where he was in the Russian mob by relying on people he didnt know how to control. He kept his face expressionless, as the young man checked his gelled up hairdo in the reflection a wall light fixture. Roman brought one of his hands down onto the desk, just loud enough to make a sudden noise. The vain mobster jumped a bit, snapping back to attention, meeting Roman's stern gaze attentively. "Is anyone else missing?" Roman asked.

Even his dimwitted muscle picked up on the severity of his bosses tone. "I dont know boss, should I look into it?" Dimitri asked hesitantly. Roman's intense glower answered Dimitri's question for him. "Ill look into it boss, dont worry about a thing." Dimitri said with an exaggerated nod, as if the muscle brained playboy couldnt decide on whether he should bow or not. Roman sighed in contempt as he watched his minion leave, closing the door behind him.

Viktor had been missing for far to long. It was clear at this point, he was dead or arrested. Since Roman had an informant in the MPD, who he had gotten off the phone with moments earlier, Roman was certain his right hand man was gone. Roman leaned back in his chair, frowning in thought. He didnt need distractions right now. Losing a powerful enforcer like Viktor, who without a doubt, was the most effective man under his command, was more then a simple setback.

Men like Viktor were rare, you couldnt train men to be like him, they had to be forged in the harsh reality of the world. They were the products of the cruelty of man. Most strong men died before taking in enough experience to become what Viktor was. Replacing Viktor would be a serious undertaking of time and energy, and he was in dire need of the man's talents now.

Less then a week ago, his drug supplier, Conrad, was found lying in a drug house, with his face smashed open. It couldnt have happened at a worse time for Roman. Conrad and Roman had been in business for less then a month, before he wound up dead. This made Roman and his organization look weak. The dealers Roman managed to track down, from Conrad's place of business were spooked. Many of them stopped answering their phones. Roman would have to set them straight at tonights meeting, a display of power to let the feeble dealers know he was still very much in charge.

After a few hours, Dimitri knocked on the door to the office. "Come in." Dimitri opened the door and walked back to the spot in front of Roman's desk, where he stood hours earlier. "Yea, few of our guys are missing. No one you'd know though… think somebody iced them?" Dimitri asked with a casual shrug. Roman didnt answer, he kept his expression calm but stern.

A flicker of recollection sparked behind the Russian playboy's eyes, and he pulled a piece of paper from his white pant's pocket. "Oh, and we found the guys you were looking for… they were laid up in the hospital." Dimitri said, looking over his own atrocious hand writing with a furrowed brow. Roman hardened his gaze. "Where?" Roman said in a serious tone. Dimitri winced and shrugged. "One of them checked themselves out, ones till there though, got the address and room number right here." Dimitri said showing it to Roman from across the room.

Roman didnt even look at the paper, maintaining his burrowing gaze. Dimitri shrugged and shoved it back into his pocket before speaking. "So, want me to take care of that too?" Dimitri asked. Roman stood, and straightened his vest, instead of answering. He walked around the desk and stood in front of Dimitri. "Get it straightened out before the sit down tonight. Do not fail me." Roman commanded. Dimitri raised his brow and nodded, before turning to leave once again. As Roman watched his gel headed underling leave his presence, he picked up the phone to make inquiries into finding a new enforcer.

Roman leaned back in his chair and let out a small sigh. He had spent the last few hours in that office, making phone calls to the illiterate buffoons dealing his product, in an uphill attempt to corral them all in the same building at once. Roman knew he would have to replace many of them with his own men, he just wanted to vet them in person, to see who would be an asset, and who would be removed.

He predicted the event would go smoothly and without bloodshed. After all, he had already made an example out of one of the dealers who refused to work with them, out of misguided patriotism. Roman didnt like resorting to barbarism, and the man did not defy him personally, but a message needed to be sent. Roman made sure his men left the body parts where Conrad and his people would find them, scattered in the dumpsters around his territory. No one else refused to work for Roman.

But now that Conrad had his skull split open, another message would be needed. The only real worry of Roman's, on that that matter at least, was that his marginally competent muscle wouldnt come back to him with any information on the matter before the meeting. He wanted more ammunition then a simple "We're looking into the matter" when he arrived at the meeting.

Roman raised his eyes to the door to his office, as he heard Dimitri's footsteps approach. Roman stood and smoothed his vest before allowing Dimitri to enter. "Come in." He ordered. Dimitri opened the door and swaggered in. Roman gave the man a hard stare before speaking. "You were coming dangerously close to disappointing me. We leave for the meeting soon." Roman said. Dimitri flinched and nodded quickly. "Yea yea, sorry I was just being thorough you know?"

Roman let out a small sigh from his nostrils. "And what did you find?" Roman asked, allowing his impatience to bleed into his voice. Dimitri winced. "Not a whole lot, I dont think it was an inside job though. The guy with the broken arm is still in the hospital, Reggie, he had a bad attitude, called me a pecker wood, had to rough him up a bit." Dimitri began. Roman hardened his jaw, later when he had the time, he would instruct Dimitri to reveal only the useful information, and not burden him with the meaningless details.

"He was a dick, but he didnt know anything about the two that did this…" Dimitri continued. "There were two attackers?" Roman inquired. "That he saw yea, they were wearing masks, probably just some speed freaks who watched to many movies you know?" Dimitri said. It took a surprising amount of willpower on Roman's part to resist the urge to belittle the man in front of him. He wasnt depending on this man to think. "So they were two guys, and they wore masks, and you dont think the bodyguards were involved? This is… less then Id hoped." Roman said, genuinely disappointed. Dimitri nodded. "Sorry, thats all I got." "It will have to do."

Roman meditated the entire ride to the auto dealership. Dimitri rode with, in the front passenger seat. Roman was able to meditate in peace, since Dimitri knew better then to try and make conversation with him or his large, ghoulish driver. Any attempt would have been almost laughable to Roman. He almost wanted to waste the brain cells to try and guess what it was Dimitri found interesting enough to pass as conversation. From what he already knew about the man, his favorite pass times were bedding women and strippers at the clubs, and watching movies at the theaters. Roman hated the movies, and he had Suki to satisfy his carnal needs. Movies like "The Midnight Animal" were little more then-

Roman's brow twitched. Something sparked in his mind, something that sent a small chill through his body. His eyes snapped open. "What kind of masks were they wearing?" Roman said suddenly, his voice firm and commanding. Dimitri jumped a bit, jerking his head around to glance back at Roman. "The guys who whacked Conrad?" Dimitri asked. Roman glared back, dropping his stern professional mask for a brief moment. Dimitri blinked and stammered a response. "Uh um uh… animal masks." Dimitri said, stumbling over his words. He opened his mouth to say more, but when he saw the tempest behind Roman's eyes, he turned back around in his seat.

Animal masks… could this mean… it was starting again? But why here, why Roman, and why now? If the vigilantes wanted to destroy the Russian mob in Miami, they should have kept hitting them after cutting off the head of the organization. They were in shambles, the Colombians began moving in on them, yet the masked killings stopped. It was possible that they wrote them off, thinking the Colombians would finish the job for them. That would make Roman a target… he was the top earner, and the one to pull the Russians out of their tailspin.

Roman wasnt sure if he should be flattered, or terrified. The last encounter he had with the masked killers, Roman learned almost nothing about them. He remembered when he and the henchmen were sent to torture and interrogate one of the few masked killers they managed to take in alive. It was just some big heavy set guy with a tiger mask. No matter how much the henchman beat him, nothing intelligible came out.

When it was Roman's turn with the prisoner, he attached electrodes to his balls and interrogated him until he could do nothing more then sob and piss himself… but still he gave them nothing. It was like his brain was already broken. As if his mind was an over wound toy whose spring had snapped. The masked man knew he wanted to kill them, knew he was supposed to, that someone wanted him too do it… but nothing else. He was a programmed weapon, who could only give "The phone" as the one giving the orders. It was a small detail of how the group operated, but nothing of their motives or intent.

The group somehow attracted violent, empty, unstable people and molded them to kill using phone calls. Roman would never admit it, but the concept both fascinated and horrified him. He respected the skill it would take to train and condition someone over the phone, to turn a man into a dog, to kill on command, but that respect ended when it was now directed at him. Still, with the small amount of information he had to work with, it was very possible he was overestimating the vigilantes abilities. His colleagues all told him he was paranoid, but then again, most of them died at the hands of Jacket. Still, he couldnt do anything about this now, he had under achieving plebs to vet.

Roman's mind was on autopilot as he ran the meeting. He had been in similar positions so many times he could do it in his sleep. Gain the confidence of a bunch of thieving goons with a promise here, a subtle threat and implication of pain and death there… but in reality, Roman was already planning his next moves. He needed game plan on how to approach his "mask" problem.

He did, however, skip a beat when a van parked along the sidewalk in front of the dealership lot, and sat there idling. Roman would glance up at the dark silhouette from time to time, a paranoia creeping into his mind. He hated the loss of control he had over his emotions in that moment… but the thought of the shadowy group of killers that managed to cut his organization in half, that they could be gunning directly for him now, it gave him a lot to think about that was beyond his control. Roman hardened his heart and forced his mind back into the here and now.

The meeting went like clockwork. The dealers all agreed to go back to hitting the streets, and Roman made a mental list of which ones he would slowly phase out of his organization, giving them less and less product to sell each month until they took the hint. It wasnt until the van sped out, squealing its tires, that Roman's body tensed once again. Dimitri and the other four of his goons who arrived in a separate car, were watching him cautiously. Roman scowled and forced a stern, controlled sneer over his face. He would not be second guessed by a bunch of common thugs. He was telling them they were leaving for the club, that they had business to attend too… when he saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimpse of the van under a street light as it made a right turn. It was that symbol… the circle and three lines. He had seen that symbol painted on the sides of bus stops, on the sidewalks, on the walls of buildings… all on mob locations where the masked vigilantes left blood and carnage in their wake. That symbol, it was some kind of marker, for the crazed programmed killers to follow. It labeled those marked for death. Roman watched the van drive off, he knew his face must look like he had seen a ghost. If his men hadnt picked up that something was amiss earlier, they had now. He grit his teeth and glared at them. "Get to the club… now."

# # #

Mark spent the next day and a half in his apartment. He ordered Chinese and pizza rather then go out for groceries and watched TV until his eyes were sore. He didnt feel safe going back to work. The twins made it seem like he had knocked over a real power player in the Russian mob, so it was still too dangerous to show his face anywhere near his last known location.

Mark sighed, and switched off the TV. He glanced at the telephone on the corner table and recalled the sappy emotions he felt when he thought about his pal Corey. He wanted to call her, to see how she was doing, just as an excuse to here her voice, but for some reason he kept procrastinating. Perhaps he thought it would somehow get her in trouble with the Russians, or maybe he was just psyching himself out… either way he wouldnt have to worry about it if he was going to keep putting it off.

Mark looked at his watch, if the pizza guy was a few minutes later, he'd be eating a free pizza soon, if it ever came. He heard a knock on the door, and his heart rejoiced, cheesy carbs was the only thing that brought him any happiness these days. He buttoned back up his black cargo pants, and dusted off the cheeto dust from his t-shirt, before walking to the door.

He opened the door, and saw the pizza he ordered being held in large hands with long calloused fingers. He blinked and looked up at the massive figure holding the pizza, a tall lanky giant looked down at him with dull sunken eyes. Mark felt a surge of terror jolt through his body, as he swung the door hard against the giant. The giant dropped the pizza box as he slammed his forearm against the door to keep it open.

Mark struggled to force the giant out of his doorway, but the ghoulish man was inhumanly strong and did not budge. The door was flung open and Mark shoved back by the force the giant's arms could produce. He watched as the massive, looming figure leaned his head foreword to fit into his doorway before he slowly approached.

He felt a sharp blossom of pain as the large well dressed attacker flung his open palm out, crashing it against Mark's chest. He winced in pain as he slammed against the wall behind him. He had two choices now, fight or flight. As the grim giant walked towards him silently, his eyes as cold as a corpse, Mark felt any desire to fight evaporate from his body.

Mark turned trying to run into the bedroom, but the long fingers of the tall man wrapped themselves around his arm and swung his momentum off to the side, slamming him, face first against a framed family photo. Mark groaned in pain, before the giant swung him around again, sweeping his legs out from under him and slamming his chin down against the short carpet of his apartment. Mark saw stars, and his eyes watered. He nearly slipped from consciousness, but the feeling of his arm being lifted up behind him, twisting at his shoulder socket and pressing his face tighter against the ground woke him up.

Mark cried out in pain. "Oh god, please dont break my arm!" "What a waste of good pizza, eh fat boy?" Said a young, arrogant voice, as another figure entered his apartment. Mark struggled to turn his head, and saw the man's skater shoes and white trousers, affirming what he had already predicted. This guy was Russian mob. Mark was fucked.

The young man who swaggered into his apartment looked like a real douche bag, with his spiky hair and that shit eating grin. He looked down at Mark. He glared up at the asshole through pain filled eyes. The douche bag slammed his foot across Mark's forehead, driving the aggression he managed to muster from him. He grunted and squirmed, but there was very little he could do in his current situation.

Mark caught the glimpse of a shiny expensive dress shoe step through the doorway of his apartment, its heel crushing the center of the pizza box. Mark felt a chill run down his body, at the slow, meticulous movements the third figure. The young, brash goon, straightened at his presence. "Toss the place." The stern man said, who Mark figured was clearly the leader of this group. Mark felt his blood freeze in his veins as the cold, lizard like eyes of the man studied him carefully. "Please… you got the wrong guy, you've made a mistake!" Mark blurted out. The man's expression's didnt so much as shift in reaction to Mark's voice. He watched Mark, his face to controlled to be called calm.

The young Russian mobster proceeded to turn Mark's apartment inside out, knocking over his book shelf, flipping his couch, knocking his CD collection onto the floor. Mark held his breath as the mobster moved his search to his bedroom. He looked back up at the mob boss, who continued to study him. Mark winced at the small sense of delight he found in the bosses eyes. He must have picked up the fear behind his eyes, that Mark had something in his bedroom… something he didnt want anyone to find.

"Got it!" The young mobster said, prancing from Mark's bedroom proudly. Mark turned his head and felt his heart sink. There, held in his hands like a trophy was Mark's bear mask. Mark's body went numb, as he looked up at the mob boss's eyes. The boss smiled ever so slightly and gestured to his giant bodyguard. Mark felt his body pulled up so fast, he barely had time to get his feet on the ground. Mark was a big guy, and the bodyguard was swinging him around like a rag doll. He tensed, as his arms were held behind his back, trapped in the tall man's iron like grip.

The mob boss took two meticulous steps towards him, bringing his expressionless mask of a face up against Mark's. "I hope you havent made any plans this evening." The mob boss said. Mark nearly fainted. The veiled cruelty behind the mob boss's eyes sapped his strength. The eyes became like caged beasts, lapping at Mark hungrily behind their bars. Mark had no illusions. This was a one way trip. "Take him." The boss said.


	12. Chapter 12

"Common Corey, focus! Where's your head?" Corey's obese manager said, interrupting her brooding thoughts. She blinked and slowly looked around at her surroundings. She saw a stainless steel counter, her hands wrapped in transparent rubber gloves, and a dozen slices of yellow cheese squares stacked in a star shaped pile. Her head concluded she was still at work.

As her hands thoughtlessly carried out their mundane tasks, her mind returned to the gray reflections that haunted her. She had lost count of how many days had gone by since Tony stormed from her apartment, leaving behind his venomous words and her shattered sense of self. She revisited the memory of that moment as if it was moving picture in her head, though she danced around it carefully, unwilling to fully immerse her thoughts on the pain she felt at that moment… The gut wrenching pain she felt as Tony's words pierced her guts and let her fantasies and self esteem bleed out onto the floor in an a puddle of liquid failure.

She pulled herself from the dark defeated thoughts for a moment, to remember what it felt like to be **her** _…_ to be the Corey she wanted to be. Corey the vigilante, Corey the zebra. As her mind pulled the sparkly images of her masked self from her thoughts, she felt a dark mass of negative emotions ooze across them, created by Tony's eviscerating words and far more damning, her own realizations.

Though clouded with shades of doubt and insecurity, she recalled herself standing calm in the face of adversity. The memory sparkled in her troubled mind like a soiled gem half submerged in a muddy shore. Corey bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes tightly. She wished she could meditate on those memories, but she could only dwell on them briefly, before reality settled in.

Her fingers curled tightly into her own palm, as the face of the one who hurt her flashed in her mind. His orange fireball eyes bored into hers, and his words gleefully rushed to assault her, from his bared teeth and snarling lips. She closed her eyes until the feelings subsided, and waited until Tony's furious face faded from her mind.

She opened her eyes, and the darkness was replaced by the sterile florescent lighting, and the unfeeling stainless steel workplace. Her manager, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen. She heard his voice coming from the front, coaching the new cashier boy as he fumbled with the register.

She caught a glimpse of Alex from the corner of her eyes. Even the self absorbed blonde seemed to have noticed Corey's shift in mood over the last few days. Alex watched her in between sideways glances. She seemed curious rather then showing any concern for her well being. Which was just as well for Corey, she didnt want pity, not from Alex, not from anyone.

Pity wouldnt validate the woman she had become over the last few weeks. Sympathy wouldnt bring back the persona she had been nurturing inside of her. She had cared for her alter ego like a proud expectant mother, only to have it die in her womb and poison her thoughts.

After her colorless shift was over, she quickly gathered her things and shuffled out the back door. Her feet quickly lost their momentum as they carried her body towards the bus stop. " _Miserable at work, miserable in her apartment,_ _what's the difference_ _?"_ She grit her teeth. She was not only miserable and pathetic, but painfully predictable and monotonous as well.

She clenched her teeth. She knew, that even time wouldnt cure this wound. Time could reshape mountains, destroy empires and swallow entire cultures and languages into abyss, but it would not outlast a circular rut. A repeating cycle of painful reflection and self abuse. Well, time would outlast the damage, but Corey would not.

She walked passed the bus stop and kept walking. She knew what a night at home would be like, what another day at work would feel like. She had to make a change. She didnt know where her body was taking her at first, but as she soon recognized the buildings and landmarks around her.

She stopped in front of the familiar ruined building, that contained the basement she had re purposed into her vigilante training ground. While it had once felt like a home away from home, she now felt uneasy and out of place. Though the open doorway she watched the lethargic movements of her hideouts new tenements, the junkys and homeless who languished away inside. She watched them, silently for a moment, before turning away.

Tony was not here. If he had been, the squatters wouldnt be lounging around so calmly. Each time they had reclaimed their little slice of downtown Miami, the homeless and druggies knew better then to face Tony's wrath. Yet each time Corey and Tony returned, so had the homeless ahead of them. It was as they were simply waiting for them to give up, that the effort of throwing them out and cleaning up their filth again and again would finally wear them down.

Corey grimaced. He willpower wasnt as strong as she thought it was. She had given up. First on her basement hideout, then on her dreams entirely. She looked down at her feet with crossed, unfocused eyes. Even back in the early days she had proven her worth. Not a damned thing.

She returned home… probably by taxi, though she didnt quite remember. Her mind was a gray blur when she found herself in her apartment. She stripped off her work shirt and bra, and stepped out of her jeans, leaving a line of clothes from her front door to her bedroom. She shuffled aimlessly towards the little comfort she had left, her warm bed.

She stopped as she first entered her room and slowly turned towards her wall, the collage of all things Jacket, the labor of love, the first physical manifestation of her fantasies. Her eyes stung with the bitter pain of tears beginning to well and drip from her eyelids. Her hand darted foreword and gripped the picture of her and her military unit, the picture she had pathetically altered. She yanked it from the wall, tearing a jagged line where the push pin had secured it to the wall, and began to crumple it in her hand.

Just as her hand began to squeeze, to compress the crumpled photo into a dense, ruined ball, the strength in her hand gave out. She held the crumpled photo in her hand with a gentle grip, trying to force her tears back inside of her head. When her eyes were finally dry (and riddled with painful red veins) she moved closer to the wall and flattened the photo against it with her fingertips. She pinned the damaged photo back to its original spot on the wall and took a step back.

It was crumpled and ugly, but still there, much like her tattered delusions. She smiled bitterly. She wasnt sure if this was anything to be pleased with but she relished the moment anyway. Deep down, she knew it most likely wasnt a victory as much as the inability to let go… but she at least was choosing to see it as a win, and that in itself was a victory.

The next day at work was just as soul rending as the last. The day after that was even worse. She didnt even pretend to be ok anymore, what was the worst they could do to her, fire her? It would just be an excuse to curl up in her bed and stay there. She preformed her expected duties, as if someone had injected liquid metal into her limbs. Her hands were slow and clumsy, her feet awkward and indecisive.

How she felt now was the exact opposite of how she did when she had flown to Tony's aid at their big hit. The surge of adrenaline and speed felt like high octane fuel exploding through every vein. The sense of power and physical prowess as she stood over the gunman was immensely pleasurable, as was the sensation of his bones breaking at the end of her pipe. Those feelings were growing all the more distant with each passing day, replaced by the sensation of being trapped in the one place she could never retreat from. Her own mind.

She heard the noises come from the managers lips, but her mind didnt make sense of them right away. It couldnt, it was to lost and damaged to translate the sounds into words. She continued to stare down at her work space, as the noises grew louder. She felt his hand on her shoulder as he forcefully turned her around to face him. She looked at him, but she couldnt see him. She felt a sickening feeling in her gut, as she felt the unstoppable tide begin to flow from her. She tightly closed her eyes, and grit her teeth in concentration, but it was far to late. Warm, miserable tears poured from her clenched eyelids against her will. She was not only shedding tears in front of her manager, in front of the other co workers, she was openly weeping. Sorrow, humiliation, and pain flowed from her in those tears, she no longer bothered to fight it.

After what felt like an eternity, the tears finally slowed, her weeping replaced by choking cries and sniffles. She regained enough of her composure to feel ashamed for sobbing in front of her coworkers and did her best to try and force herself to stop. She sucked in gasping breaths from her clenched teeth, and let out trembling breaths, keeping her eyes down at her feet and away from the manager.

Her manager stood before her like a statue, frozen in intense awkwardness. She practically felt his discomfort emanate from his body like like radioactive waves. It was then at her lowest that she felt something very surprising.

Her manager's hand reached out and gently squeezed her arm. She slowly brought her blurry gaze up at the portly man, her mind still dizzy from the release of pent up emotions. To her surprise, the manager looked genuinely concerned. His hand gently ran up and down the side of her arm as he carefully chose his words. "Why dont you take the rest of the week off, with pay. Come back when your ready." The manager said gingerly.

Corey blinked and stared at him for a few moments before nodding her head in a jerky motion. The manager smiled awkwardly and let his hand drop from Corey's arm, letting his hands fidget together in front of him. "Good, you gotta take care of yourself… if you cant do that, you wont be able to do much of anything. So… yea, take care of yourself Corey." The manager said with a little grimace and a nod.

Corey took her managers advice. She left the restaurant behind her and took to the streets. She didnt know why, but her feet were taking her back to that place, the ruined basement she gave up without so much as a fight. Perhaps her feet, and her subconsciousness were punishing her by rubbing her nose in her failure. She grit her teeth and kept walking, a slave to her own mind.

As sickeningly cathartic as it was for Corey to kick herself when she was down, apart of her believed it was for another reason her feet were dragging her back there. Her teeth clattered against one another, as a chill swept through her body, despite the hot and humid day. She realized what it was that was driving her, what hidden secret she had tucked away. Hope…

She yearned to stand before the front of her building, to see that the bum population had been forcefully migrated, to step into the filthy basement and find Tony waiting for her as if nothing had happened… She still hadnt forgiven Tony, and she doubted if she ever could. Apart of her wanted an apology, before she would even consider taking him back… but she knew the chances of Tony doing something like that would be practically impossible. Even if he felt genuine remorse for what he said and did, he would rather die then admit any wrong doing.

She smiled softly to herself. She had grown to understand the big brute far more then she ever thought she would. He was brutish, single minded, selfish and self absorbed… yet here she was, hoping against all odds, to find him waiting for her, to take her back as if she was the one who left him. She couldnt help but laugh at how preposterous it all was. The more she thought about it, the closer she got to her secret basement, the more she chided herself on the idiocy of her own logic.

The Junkys, homeless and otherwise, were lounging about in their drug veiled bliss. They were doing what Corey should have been, numbing their pain through any means necessary. She let her wavering gaze drop to her feet, as the welling of tears returned. She closed her eyes and didnt open them until the moment of weakness had passed. Eventually she turned away from the ruined house and returned to the path from which she came. She kept her eyes down at the street in front of her feet and never looked back.

She found herself in her apartment once again. Her body was still operating on its own, her mind was to busy sifting through mental baggage to be bothered to handle mundane tasks like walking to the kitchen and feeding herself. She knew she must have been starving, she hadnt eaten anything all day, and the only thing she could recall nibbling on the day before, was the turkey sandwich she had brought brought from home.

She glanced at the telephone next to the couch where she sat. After a brief struggle with lethargy, she managed to muster the effort to reach for the phone to order a pizza. Just as her fingertips brushed against the smooth plastic receiver, she heard a tiny rap against her door. She paused, and strained her hearing. She wasnt expecting visitors, and unless they found a new break through in pizza ordering technology, it wasnt a delivery man. She waited until she heard it again, a timid knock on her door, starting slow and quiet for the first two raps, slowly building up into three clearly audible knocks.

Corey set the phone down and rose from the couch. She cautiously slunk towards the door. She checked the peephole, but couldnt see anything but a black shroud. Whoever was behind the door was standing to close, and all she could see was the figures dark shirt. She reached for the lock on the door hesitantly with one hand, while the other reached out to the handle of her aluminum bat. She slid the deadlock back and opened the door carefully peeking around the cracked doorway. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her fingers released the handle of the bat.

Tony stood before her in the doorway, his head hung down at an angle, his eyes avoiding direct contact. She waited with baited breath, her eyes still frozen with astonishment. Tony opened his mouth to speak, before reconsidering. He kept his own eyes low, slowly trailing up Corey's form until they cautiously peered down into her expectant gaze.

Finally he spoke. "It felt… like everything I wanted and more… I was king of the universe, I was god of man, I was… power incarnate." Tony said out of the corner of his mouth and teeth, his eyes staring off to the side, pained and reluctant. Corey moved her curious gaze from each of his orange hazel eyes, to the grimace on his lips, as he struggled finish his sentiment. "It was everything I wanted… but when it was all over, I just felt… I dont know… empty, and fucking sick to my stomach. All that was left was that… fuckingscumbag on the ground, the blood on my hands. It still feels fucking weird." Tony said softly, his jaw relaxing for the first time since he arrived.

She stood in front of Tony for what felt like an eternity. Apart of her wanted to throw open the door and hug the big brute, and the other wanted to press him for an apology, or at least for more information. Eventually she took a step back and opened the door. No sooner then she had, Tony pushed his way inside gruffly, heading straight for the couch where he sat down, staring at the blank tv. Corey watched him silently for a few moments before closing and locking the door.

The rest of the night was surreal to Corey. Tony was behaving in the most agreeable manner she had ever witnessed, he was nearly pleasant. Whenever he scoffed at her questions and ideas, his taunts were only slightly cruel and cutting. Still, she could see him making an effort, and she couldnt help but feel flattered at the special treatment.

A light bulb lit up above her head as she remembered something. Tony glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, raising a brow inquisitively, as she sprung to her feet suddenly, and darted into her room. Tony waited, his arms stretched out over the back of the couch, his knees wide apart, taking up as much space as humanly possible. Corey returned, her zebra mask back on its rightful place, over her face, and holding Tony's belongings in her hands.

She threw his leather finger-less gloves at Tony first. He caught one of them, but the other one smacked against his chest and fell onto his lap. Tony glanced down at them and nodded in recollection before slipping them on. Corey waited until he tightened the straps of his gloves before lifting up the other item he left behind. His bloodied tiger mask. She moved her arm to give it a small underhand toss, but it felt somehow disrespectful to her, so she instead walked in front of the big man, and held it out to him. Corey noticed Tony's left eye flinch as he saw the mask, before he hardened his expressions and snatched it from her hand. He muttered thanks under his breath and pulled it over his head.

"Fits like a glove." He said nonchalantly, shifting the eye holes to line up. Her heart soared hearing those words leave Tony's lips. She was half expecting some kind of dialogue on if they truly wanted to continue there… game, experience, relationship?

Corey blinked under her mask. What exactly was it she and Tony shared? It wasnt a game, it was far more real to Corey then anything else in her life. Work, her nonexistent love life, her friends and family, they didnt even come close. She couldnt call it a shared fantasy either, when they had quickly worked to make it into reality. All it really was… was her and Tony, a relationship of sorts.

Corey eyed tony out of the corner of her eyes. She was pretty sure she didnt feel any romantic feelings towards him, non that surpassed a simple animal attraction to his Olympian form. Truthfully, he was a very hard man to endure, yet she had learned how to avoid his jagged edges, and how to exploit his flaws to help make conversation and planning tolerable. She even enjoyed dancing around Tony's edges and belligerent quirks to some degree. She liked whatever it was she had with Tony and she decided to leave it at that for now.

Corey ordered a pizza while Tony downed the two beers she had in the fridge before walking behind the couch to do one handed push ups. Corey smirked and leaned back to look over at his form thrusting up and down. It felt like the incident had never happened. She felt a warm glow inside of her chest as she rose from the couch. She was as terrified as she was giddy, but that wasnt going to stop her. She had already let negative thinking nearly rob her already, she would never put Corey the zebra into a cage again… but for that Corey to truly come to life, she needed to be reborn. She needed an experience, no simple conversation would do. She needed her turn to kill someone.

She walked over to Tony, looking down at him as he pushed his body up and down with one hand, his other tucked behind the small of his back. He didnt look at her, but looked straight down, focused on his movements. She watched him for awhile, before she turned and sat her rump down on his shoulder, gently pressing half of her weight down, before lifting her feet from the ground to fully sit on Tony's hard, muscular back and shoulders. Tony's action came to a stop as she did this, but he kept his eyes down on the floor. After only a few moments he continued his exercise, hoisting Corey up into the air with his powerful movements. Corey smiled to herself at the roughness of his actions. The added weight of her body was little more then a challenge to Tony, and he cared not if her ride on his back was gentle or not.

Her smile slowly faded as she began to word her next statement, and the anxiety began to flicker in the pits of her stomach once again. She had something important to say, and she had to say it, now while the momentum was still there. "I know it wasnt exactly how you imagined it… or it was, but it also wasnt…" Corey frowned. _"_ _Off to a great start..."_ Tony slowed his actions as he listened, turning his head towards her. Corey continued. "I have to find out what its like Tony… I need to find out for myself." She said. Tony hoisted her up a bit as he switched arms suddenly, and continued with his exercise. "You did almost everything I did." Tony said frankly. Corey crossed her arms and looked down at her knees in thought. "Not everything…" Corey said softly.

Tony scoffed and shook his head, continuing his push ups even rougher then before. Corey used her feet to stabilize herself, to avoid slipping off. "You can laugh all you want, but you know what its like, and I dont…" Corey said firmly. Tony didnt respond, he just kept up his pace. Corey had lost count of how many times the big brute had bobbed her up and down by now, but Tony showed little signs of tiring.

Corey hesitated for awhile, before whispering. "Would you ever want to do it again…?" Corey asked gently. Tony grunted, shook his shoulders, knocking She from his back and back onto her feet. She turned around and watched him straighten back up. He looked off to the side for a few moments, before turning his fire orange eyes towards her, a familiar intensity rekindled inside his fierce gaze. "I couldnt stop thinking about it… It was a hell of a crash, but that was nothing compared to the rush of the action. No way in hell we're stopping now." Tony said firmly. The corners of Corey's lips twitched as they turned into a broad smile. "Alright… lets do this then. No more holding back this time." Corey said, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her Dolphins starter jacket. "This time we'll kill them all."


	13. Chapter 13

"Where'd you get the station wagon?" Corey asked, as Tony pulled up in a tan colored Ford with tacky wood siding. Tony narrowed his eyes, as Corey let her dark brown eyes scan his newly acquired vehicle, dimly lit under a flickering street lamp. He scoffed before answering. "Where do you think?" Corey stiffened for a moment, probably still unused to the idea of preforming illegal activities. They were about to commit mass murder tonight, murder of Jacket proportions, and still she was acting like a damn civilian. Tony had never felt like an average Joe so he couldnt even comprehend her reservations, even if he wanted to. What they were doing now was just a natural progression for him.

Corey looked around nervously, before opening the back door and throwing in the duffel bag of tools. Tony grimaced under his mask, as he looked back at the bag from the rear view mirror, Corey's bag… She had asserted herself as the planner for their upcoming massacre. Tony had felt that he owed it to her, and had done his best to play along. He regretted it immediately. Corey had become hyper sensitive to any criticism or tweak to her plan, and would go on and on over every little detail of the operation. Tony could now just grit his teeth at how over complicated and idiotic it all had become. Like something out of a James Bond flick, but far less entertaining, Corey had spent the entire day planning, scouting, questioning, staking out the location of their hit, studying them for patterns, and anything else to delay them from getting to the bloodshed. Tony was all but tuned out of the planning process at this point, he didnt care how they did it, as long as they got into a building with some dirtbags, his fists would do the rest.

Corey sat in the front passenger seat and slammed the door shut, as Tony hit the gas, pulling out in front of some idiot who blared his horn at them as they sped off. "Slow down Tony. We dont want to get a ticket in a stolen vehicle…" Corey grumbled as Tony weaved through traffic. "Relax, Im a fucking amazing driver." Tony said confidently, tailgating the car in front of him until he eventually passed and cut the driver off, raising a middle finger to the back window as the driver blared away on his little horn. Corey scrambled to get her seatbelt on as Tony smiled smugly from under his mask. Corey brushed the hair from her eyes and watched him curiously for a moment, her face free of her zebra mask for now. He was clad head to toe in his vigilante gear, his mask, boots, a tight fitting black t shirt, cargo pants, with one new addition, a military combat vest. Corey studied it carefully for a moment before speaking. "That looks like the vests you wore back in Hawaii." Corey said thoughtfully, no doubt vividly recalling their military "glory" days. Tony shrugged. "Thats because it **is** the vest I wore in Hawaii." Tony said frankly. Corey blinked and stared at him, probably thinking of new and exciting questions to ask Tony, on how he had stole his military vest out from under Uncle Sam's nose, but he didnt have the patience for twenty questions right now.

Tony ignored Corey, he was busy thinking violent, hateful thoughts. He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel, rocking himself back and forth, as he tried to tap into the primal passions that had all but overwhelmed him the last time they were this close to the action. He grit his teeth, attempting to force his violent rage back to the surface, but something was in the way, blocking him from it, like a cinder black resting on his heart. He cursed himself under his breath through clenched teeth, as Corey fidgeted in the back, her lower half steel kneeling onto the front seat, while the rest of her struggled to pull her zebra mask free from her bag. Corey nearly fell to the floor of the station wagon as Tony made a tight turn, his mind still consumed by his racing thoughts.

Tony winced, deep down he knew why he was having trouble immersing himself into his inner rage. He quit on himself. It was only for a moment, just a moment of weakness, but that was all it took, to put a chink in his mental armor. A hole, a flaw… Tony couldnt afford any flaws. In no way did he doubt his physical prowess, he was still the same killing machine he was before, but he had revealed something horrible inside himself, something weak and wretched and worse, something human. He felt honest to god regret for smashing that tattooed low life, only so Tony could get his rocks off. Regret… regret was the most pointless, worthless emotion somebody could ever entertain. One of the few lessons his old man taught him, before walking out on him and his mom, was how regret could destroy a man. Tony was not his father, he refused to be anything like that fucking prick.

Tony grounded his teeth as he focused the rage onto himself. After storming off, leaving his mask behind in Corey's apartment, after saying everything he could to hurt her, he experienced just how lost he was without all of this. He wondered the streets, worked out at the gym, lurked in the back alleys like he did before meeting Corey, but it was all fucking pointless. Tony knew immediately, there was no going back to his old life. What he had with Corey, what he did to Conrad and those junky's, it was no longer a primal urge, Tony needed it. He was as addicted as the worthless junkies he had beaten to a pulp. Addicted to the violence, the adrenalin, and the feeling of godhood that was all too real in the midst of the blood and carnage.

The sounds of blaring horns and Corey's gasps woke Tony from his intense brooding. He finished passing the car in front of him, before swerving back into his lane, nearly slamming head on into oncoming traffic. The driver behind him slammed on his breaks and blared his horn as Tony cut him off. Corey smacked her fist against Tony's shoulder. "What the hell are you doing? You get us into an accident we'll be arrested before we even start!" Corey said with a huff. Tony couldnt help but smirk back at her. "Quit your bitching, you worry to much." Tony said, entirely unconcerned. Corey crossed her arms and looked back ahead at the road, as Tony continued to race his way to their destination.

There was an awkward silence in the air, as Corey fidgeted with her hair and mask in the sun visor mirror. "Do you remember the plan?" Corey finally asked. Tony rolled his eyes as he recollected the plan. "Yea yea yea, we break the door down, fuck up anyone who gets in our way, take the elevator to the top, then… we do that Octopussy bullshit you thought up." Tony said, shaking his head. Corey huffed again. "Its not bullshit, its smart… we use the crowbars to open the service hatch on top of the elevator and pry open the door to the top floor, its the quickest way." Corey said defensively. Tony growled under his breath. "Why cant we just lift the elevator key off of one of his bodyguards?" Tony asked, racking his mind back to the plan he had all but ignored up until now. He had completely forgotten if he had asked this before. "Because, we dont know if any of them have a key." Corey said calmly, though the irritation behind her voice was clear. Tony shrugged indignantly. "And we cant check the bodies?" Tony asked. Corey shook her head in frustration. "We've been over this, we wont have time." Corey said. Tony narrowed his eyes. "You just want to go through the elevator shaft because its "cool", dont you?" Tony said dismissively. Corey groaned in aggravation. "We have to move fast, keep hitting them before they call for reinforcements… this wont be like last time, these guys are the real deal…" Corey said stubbornly. Tony shrugged, giving up making getting through Corey's mental gymnastics. Corey fidgeted with her hands for a moment before adding "And it will be very cool."

Tony turned his head back to fully face the road. She was right about one thing, they werent going after drug dealers and junkies this time. They were going all in, no fucking Darius to slow them down with his rules. From now on Tony's fists would let loose, with no reservation, no concern for human life. Tony would fucking bathe in the loss of human life tonight. The blood stains on his firsts would be badges of honor. This time, they would be worthy prey for the mighty hunter, no more morsels. Corey wanted Tony to study, and know his prey, but she couldnt understand. He didnt know the men he was about to murder, and he didnt want to. He only knew that he hated them, and hatred made him strong. Tony couldnt know them anymore then a wolf could know rabbit.

Tony felt a sharp pang of anxiety gnaw at his heart as the run down high rise apartment building loomed into view. Corey, likewise, grew very quiet, as she looked up at the building, as if it were the face of god. Tony stopped along the side of the street, near the alley at the rear of the building and waited. Up top, in the pent house suite, they were going to cut the head from the snake, that curly haired bastard Roman. Roman didnt know it yet, plotting and scheming up in his big pent house suite, but he was already dead. All of Roman's plots and plans will be for nothing, his entire life reduced to that of Tony's next victim. Tony had a feeling about him from the first time he looked down at his photo. Something about the stern discipline in Roman's eyes, and the hard line his mouth made, rubbed Tony the wrong way. A stuck up control freak, the all business type, it was written all over his face, his carefully expressionless face. What a fucking joke, he couldnt make it anymore obvious to somebody primal like Tony. Tony knew who Roman was, and what he was about, the moment he laid eyes on the photo. Some professional Roman would turn out to be.

Tony hoped Roman's muscle, Viktor, would put up a fight, more then the last one did. That cowering, whimpering Conrad, hiding behind a woman… the more he thought about it, the more he was glad he killed him. Still, Tony wasnt doing this to terrorize weaklings and cowards, he could do that anytime he wanted. Hell, he could just go walk the streets at night for that. Tony needed them to fight back. If the prey didnt struggle, nothing was gained. There was no victory or conquest in killing a broken man. From now on, every kill, he would earn. He was coming for them with only his bare fists, and they had better arm themselves with guns, knives and bats. Every kill would be a triumph, every victim a prize. Killing Conrad while he begged, didnt give Tony satisfaction. If he had killed that pasty fat fuck drug dealer, while he whimpered on the ground, it wouldnt have meant a damn thing. They gave up. Glory is earned, not given.

"Down the alley, through the fire exit door." Corey said, stating the painfully obvious. Tony's entire body flexed and tightened. "Enough talk, lets get on with this!" He said suddenly, reaching his arm out to open the door. "Wait." Corey hissed. Tony's body trembled in agitation and pent up rage. He turned to Corey, his eyes burning with anger. "What!?" He snarled. Corey ignored Tony, which pissed him off even further. She leaned foreword, looking around him, scanning the building and the tenant parking lot thoroughly. Tony growled deep in his throat, and followed her gaze. He didnt see anything out of the ordinary, but the tense, humorless look in her eyes was enough to put Tony on edge. "Well?" Tony asked. Corey finally met his agitated gaze, her eyes deep with concern. "There are more cars here then before… a lot more." Corey muttered. Tony snarled and glanced at the parking lot a second time. He couldnt deny, there was a lot of high end luxury and sports cars illegally parked, crammed to make room in the already full lot.

Corey just stared at the black Mercedes Benz. "His car is here… but he brought friends, a lot of friends…" Corey said sullenly. Tony glared at Corey, snarling through gritted teeth. "I thought you were being careful!" Tony said. Corey shook her head adamantly. "I was. I didnt think anyone noticed me, they dont know who I am… right?" Corey said with an airy voice, as if unconvinced herself she didnt tip them off. Tony shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands to the sides obstinately. "We just get a higher body count, thats all." Tony said in a low growling voice. Corey shook her head. "No it changes everything, drive around to the front." Corey said, half mumbling her words. "What? Why?" Tony asked defiantly. "Just do it Tony, common…" Corey said insistently. Tony ground his teeth in anger, she was losing her nerve already.

Tony drove around the weathered high rise, keeping his vehicle at a low speed, as they did a quick drive by the front of the building. Tony's body tensed, as he spotted a man in front of the building, leaning against the front wall just to the side of the door. He wore a white suit, typical to the Russian mob, and was smoking a cigarette. The bored, pissed off look in his eye told Tony he had been there, watching the streets, for awhile now. Tony's eyes narrowed again as his body bristled with aggressive energy. "They left a guard." He said in a low dangerous voice. Tony drove past the front of the building, maintaining his slow speed. The mob sentinel watched their car as they drove past. Corey nodded, her eyes still glued to the building. "Did you see how many guys were in the lobby?" Corey said, her voice buzzing with tension. Tony blinked and shook his head. "What? No, I only saw the guy in the front." Tony admitted. "I saw three or more guys with baseball bats, just waiting around…" Corey said grimly. Tony stopped the car at the stop light and pondered this. "So they know we're coming… doesnt change a thing." Tony said firmly. "It changes everything, we didnt plan for this many…" Corey said in a calm voice, apparently trying to hide her obvious fear and reservations, behind her cool cucumber routine.

Tony growled in frustration. So much for Corey's plan, one little set back and she's already throwing in the towel. That wasnt going to happen though, not on Tony's watch. "You want new plan? Ok, here's my plan." Tony said stepping on the accelerator and whipping a sudden U turn. Corey's body stiffened as she threw a hand onto Tony's broad shoulder. "Tony, what are you doing?" Corey asked, doing her best to sound calm and collected, even as Tony drove back towards the front of the building. "What are you doing?" Corey repeated, her fingers tightening around the fabric of Tony's shirt. Tony ignored her, now was not the time for words, it was time for action.

Tony drove the car directly in front of the Roman's building, one of his front tires crossing over onto the sidewalk, stopping the vehicle within feet of the entrance, and the henchman guarding it. Tony threw open the car door and emerged like a blood starved beast, breaking free of its chain. Tony did not hesitate, he had stopped thinking as soon as he turned the car around, he let his adrenaline, his rage and his hatred drive him. He made a b line directly for the white clad sentinel, his head and shoulders hunched foreword, his fists tightly clenched. Tony didnt run, he walked, taking long, brisk, furious steps towards his frightened prey. The sentinel had enough time to throw his cigarette away and scrambled to free his gun from his side holster, before the tiger masked monster was upon him. Tony swung his arm back before throwing his fist foreword, behind it he sent all of his might, all of his pride and all of his rage. His fist smashed through the sentinel's mouth, shooting the yellow stained teeth down the mobsters throat and shattering his jaw. The blow sent the mobsters head back into the wall behind him, crushing the mobsters skull in between Tony's fist and the hard concrete, shattering the back of his head. Blood sprang out like red tendrils in all directions against the wall behind the sentinels head. The mobster collapsed, painting a red smear down the wall, his blood drenched hair, little more then a wet paintbrush.

Tony felt a fire ignite in his body, as his passion's were released. His second kill, and he didnt even pause to look down at the blood on his hands. He threw open the door to the high rise building, like a gladiatorial champion, returning to his arena. The door burst open, nearly slamming against one of the mobsters guarding the front. The mobster blinked, his eyes wide as he leveled a double barreled shotgun towards Tony's chest. Tony's body reacted automatically, swinging his right in a vicious horizontal arc, catching the sawed off double barrels and effortlessly yanking it free of the mobsters hands. The mobster took a step back raising his hands to the side in surrender, as the other four goons guarding the front reception area, scrambled to attention, raising their odd assortment of weapons, a baseball bat, a metal pipe, a chain, and a switchblade knife.

Tony paused, they were all looking towards him with fear, but not of him. They were staring at the fucking gun in his hand, as if the hunk of metal and wood was more dangerous then the fist that held it. He swept his glare from the five men in front of him. He snorted in frustration before opening the break action in front of his face, sending the shotgun shells sailing off to the side, before whipping the empty gun down against the ground, sending it bouncing and skittering against the far wall. The mobster closest to him, who had held the gun just moments before, squinted his eyes in confusion. "What do you want?" The thug demanded. Tony answered with a lightning fast jab to the man's throat. His fist slammed the disarmed gunman's throat against the back of his neck. If Tony had taken a little step foreword, he had no doubt his fist would have crushed through his spine as well. The mobsters eyes nearly popped from his head and his mouth dropped open as he gasped futile through his crushed larynx.

As the dying gunman fell to the floor gurgling his last breaths, the rest of the thugs spanned out around him, their faces dripping with hatred and vengeful intent. Tony's body shook with adrenaline as he threw hands down and out to his sides, fingers half open, curled in hateful, angry claws, as he threw his head foreword, snarling in challenge at the men. As the mobsters swarmed towards him, it was Tony who pushed the action, running to meet his assailants with blood drunk zeal. The mobster with the knife swung blade wildly as Tony approached, trying to fend him off with the speed of his short blade. Tony's threw a powerful right punch, straight through the knife wielders flurry of strikes without taking so much as a scratch from the blade. Tony's fist smashed against the mobster's skull with the power of a jackhammer, killing the mobster instantly, spattering his blood across Tony's fist and mask. Tony didnt see the attacker coming up to his left as much as he felt him. Tony stepped out of the way of the bat, as the mobster wielding it swung it through the air, just passed Tony's face, shaking the rubber tiger mask as it sailed past. Tony grabbed the bat wielding mobster by the wrist and arm, throwing him with all of his strength, sending the mobster crashing against the attacker with the chain. The two attackers slammed together, flopping onto the ground in pain. The last standing attacker swung his lead pipe at Tony's head, his eyes bleeding with fear and hatred as he cursed Tony in a mixture of Russian and English. Tony dodged each attack, stepping around him before swinging a brutal right hook, smashing his fist into the mobsters ribs like a wrecking ball. Tony's fist obliterated the mobsters ribs, driving the shattered bones deep into the man's lungs. As the mobster crumpled to the floor, Tony saw the fight leave his eyes as quickly as it left his body.

Tony turned to the two mobsters rising to their feet. As the mobster with the chain struggled to orient himself from the violent impact he and the bat wielding mobster endured, his comrade dropped the bat, and struggled to free his pistol from its holster. Tony glowered down at the man in disgust, as he watched him pull the pistol free and whirl it around towards him. Tony simply reached his hand out and caught the mobsters wrist, stopping his arm dead in its tracks, before slamming his free hand against the mobsters elbow, hyper extending the arm straight backwards at revoltingly unnatural angle. The chain wielding thug's eyes widened in terror as his comrade screamed in agony, before Tony wrapped his arms around his neck, tugging and jerking it violently. It took Tony two strong pulls from his arms, before he felt the thug's neck snap. The mobsters limbs spasmed against Tony's body briefly, the last transmission from his brain, little more then confused static.

Tony shoved the body of the mobster away, stalking towards his final prey. The burning intensity behind Tony's eyes, the high of adrenaline and endorphins mixing in his body, setting his blood on fire, it was better then Tony could have ever imagined. If the man before Tony had any illusions of defeating him, they had long since left. Tony knew he was dead, the mobster knew that he was dead, but still he went through the motions of defending himself anyway. The mobsters arm exploded foreword, swinging the chain in a violent arc towards Tony's head. Tony caught the chain, taking the pain of it biting against his forearm, before jerking the chain from the mobsters grasp. The mobster turned and ran in a futile attempt to save his life. It wasnt a complete waste though, it gave Tony a moving target. Tony barreled after him, tackling the man face first against the tile floor. The mobster tucked his hands to the sides of his head to defend himself, as Tony cocked his right fist back. Tony slammed his fist down against the back of the fallen man's head, again and again, giving in to his blood lust in a violent frenzy, until nothing but a mound of red sludge, wet hair and shattered bone remained.

Tony threw his shoulders and head back and bellowed in carnal fury. This was the single greatest moment of his life, everything led up to right now. He was a blood stained warrior poet, this building was his arena, its walls and floors his canvas, the men inside it his sculpting clay, his blood stained fists his ink and pen, the people of the world his spectator. He was god king of mankind, he was the dealer of destruction and pain, he was wrath and death incarnate.

Tony barely even noticed that Corey was following him, holding her bag of toys silently, admiring Tony's wrathful artistry. Tony said nothing to her, he walked around the receptionists desks and through one of the archways on either side of the divider wall, to the main lobby itself. Tony's eyes widened as his blood fueled elation was cut short from what he saw. Before him, over a dozen gunman filed around the old fountain and large circular couches in the middle of the lobby, armed with AK-47's, Tec-9 submachine guns and pump action shotguns, and ontop of all that firepower, they were all over twenty feet away, far from in range of Tony's fists. The mobster, seemingly in charge of the band of gunmen chambered a round into his AK-47 before shouting. "Waste this mother fucker!" With only a hint of a Russian accent. Tony's heart beat a mile a minute as he ran to the side, the adrenaline in his body surging through him as his rage made way for pure self preservation. Bullets and buckshot ripped through the floor tiles and walls around him as he crashed through a door of one of the side rooms of the lobby. Tony broke the door right from its hinges, and fell with it, face first, onto the floor of the small conference room. He landed with a grunt, before he shook his head and quickly checked his surroundings. He was alone, but there was only one way in into the conference room, through the door he had just finished knocking down. Tony grit his teeth and clenched his fists, as he heard the gunmen gathering outside of the doorway behind him. Tony stood near the doorway, but off to the side, waiting for the inevitable breach. He spot the barrel of a pump action shotgun poke in through the door frame, as the first gunman approached. His hand clasped over the barrel of the gun and jerked the man holding it into the room with him, swinging him around like a rag doll. Tony brought his fist against the side of the gunman's head in a savage left hook, cracking his skull and breaking his neck in an obviously fatal position. Before the gunman's lifeless body even hit the floor, automatic fire ripped through the walls, striking all around Tony. Tony dove over the massive conference table, and shoved it over violently, sliding it up against the wall with his legs. He hid behind the massive wood slab, hoping the added layer of matter would help slow down the bullets ripping through the walls, all the while gritting his teeth, no longer worried about survival, but frustrated that he was being forced to cower.

Tony narrowed his brow in confusion as he heard shouting in Russian and gunfire, following footsteps away from the doorway. Tony realized Corey must have swung by to try and rescue him, but unlike before, it wasnt a simple gang banger with a pistol, it was a small army of Russian gunmen. Tony ground his teeth, as he waited, powerless to do anything in this position, unable to be of use to Corey or even himself. He heard a footstep approach the doorway again, this time much slower then before. Tony's body tensed, like a tightly coiled spring, as he waited, the sound of the gunman's nervous breathing tantalizing his senses. "Come out, come out…" The Russian gunman taunted boldly, though the quiver in his breath, told Tony a different story. Tony exploded foreword, bringing his body partly in view of the open doorway. Before the gunman could aim and fire his rifle, Tony's arm exploded foreword, bringing his fist against the gunman's cheek with as much force as a boulder hurled from a catapult. The gunman's cheek bone was caved in to the back of his skull, his eye popping from its socket, before his body fell straight back against the ground.

Tony once again ducked behind the desk as bullets ripped through the walls, the sounds of automatic fire masking the Russian and English curse words being thrown at him. After the second volley, and the subsequent reloading, there was only silence. Tony's eyes flicked around the tiny crack of the doorway he allowed himself to peek through, without fully exposing himself. He saw nothing. Minutes went by, and still Tony waited, he didnt know what it was they were planning, but whatever it was, he would be ready. Finally, the leader of the mobster's voice rang out through the doorway once more.

"Hey, tiger man, yea you. We know your still in there, we can hear skittering around like a rat." The leader said confidently. Tony knew they couldnt have heard him, he was barely moving at all, little alone away from his conference table cover, but the fact they dared to taunt him, caused his upper lip and eyes twitched with rage. He finally snarled back in response, a wordless challenge for them to come in and get him. The voice of the Russian leader was unimpressed. "You think your fangs are sharp? You think you are real tiger or something, growling like animal? Well, we have some friends here, whose teeth are a little sharper, then yours…" The Russian said with a laugh. Tony narrowed his brow, steeling himself for whatever they threw at him. As he waited, straining his hearing, he heard short, sudden commands in Russian, followed by excited scratching of claws on tile, and bestial growling. Tony bared his fangs as he waited for the inevitable. "Bring it on already!" He finally snarled. The Russian gunmen obeyed, two large Doberman pinchers shot through the doorway like dark fur covered rockets. Tony's face twisted in pain under his mask, as he felt the first dog spring up and sink its teeth into the meat of his palm. He ignored the pain of the deep gouges into his hand and gripped his fist around the dogs jaw, pressing the canines teeth deeper into his wounds. The second dog jumped up, with foam dripping from its blood thirsty jaws, as it snapped for Tony's throat. Tony caught the second dog by the scruff of its neck, stretching his arm out to keep its jaws and claws away from him. He growled in pain and frustration as the dog he held by its throat slapped its claws against his arm and chest again and again, ripping his shirt and drawing bloody lines across his body. The Russian handling the dogs poked his head inside of the doorway, fearfully at first, but when he spotted Tony struggling with the two attack dogs on either side of his head, he stepped fully into the room, laughing sadistically. Tony glared at the dog handler, even as he raised his submachine gun. Tony bellowed in fury as he slammed the two dogs skulls together, creating a loud thunk, and high pitched canine yelp. He threw the dog he held by the neck at the dog handler like a eighty pound medicine ball, knocking the man off of his feet and out of the room. With his right arm now free, he hooked his free hand around the dogs jaws, using both hands to force the dog's mouth open. He growled, glaring down at the attack dog with feral rage as he broke the dogs lower jaw clear from its head. Tony threw the injured animal against the wall just in front of him with heavy thud, killing the beast outright.

"Mother fuckerrr!" The Russian leading the gunmen screamed charging through the breach at Tony. Tony let the mobster run past him, before stunning him with a quick jab to the jaw. The Russian leader's legs turned to jelly, and his eyes watered, as Tony turned him around and held him in front of himself, as a human shield. He thrust the Russian leader back through the doorway, knocking aside the gunman filing in after him. Tony left the conference room for the first time since the shoot out started, brandishing the leader in front of him as his hostage, knocking aside anyone who stood in his way. Tony nearly jumped in surprise as the dog handler opened fire from his spot lying on the ground, riddling his hostage with the entire magazine of his submachine gun. Tony jerked the Russian leader to the left, shielding himself from the rest of the gunman, and allowing him to see the fallen dog handler clearly. The dog handler must have fired upon his boss in error, since his eyes flashed with shear horror, as his clumsy hands tried to release the empty magazine of his gun. Tony stomped the hard heel of his cowboy boot down onto the dog handlers chest, cracking the man's sternum. Tony's second stomp crushed clean through the bone, caving in the man's chest, sending a small fountain of spittle and blood spewing from the dying man's lips.

Tony turned his attention back to the left, where the rest of the gunmen were coming from. "I cant get a clear shot!" Tony heard the gunman, he had just battered aside with his hostage say, and to Tony's surprise, his hostage answered the gunman. "Just take the fucking shot!" The Russian leader said, dazed but still very much alive. Tony quickly jerked his head around his hostage, to see the gunman. The gunman immediately raised his pump action shotgun and fired, only to have Tony move his boss into the way of the shot. Tony's hostage groaned as the buckshot hit his body. Tony threw his hostage foreword at the man with the shotgun, who did his best to shrug his boss off the barrel of his gun, and bring it back towards Tony. Tony caught the barrel of the shotgun and swung it and the gunman holding around himself it in a violent circle. The gunman tried to keep his stubborn grasp on his weapon, but ended up swinging off of his feet, finally releasing it to be sent rolling towards the fountain and couches in the middle of the lobby. Tony threw the shotgun to the ground so hard, it cracked the tile flooring, before stalking towards his fallen prey. The gunman whirled around and sprang to his feet, his arms raised to defend himself. Tony stopped in front of him, and waited, watching the man's entire body tense. The disarmed gunman's fists shook as if possessed, as he wrestled to throw a punch, but at the last moment, his mind kept stopping him. Tony scoffed before throwing a blindingly fast jab into the man's chin. The man's legs gave out from under him as he collapsed, but Tony didnt let him hit the ground. Tony caught the man by the collar of his shirt in mid fall, and threw two more quick punches against the man's forehead, the first blow cracking the skull, the second crushing it entirely. Tony held the man, slumped back and limp, bleeding through his skull onto the tile floor for a moment, as he looked around for his next victim.

To Tony's surprise, they were gone. He had counted at least twelve, and was certain he hadnt killed that many. Before he could locate the rest of the gunmen, or Corey for that matter, a bullet ripped through the air from behind him, slamming into his back. Tony stumbled foreword, the gunshot stung, but the bullet was stopped by the military vest, it was only pain. Tony dropped the dead gunman and ran for the fountain for cover. His former hostage, the Russian leader, fired several shots from his pistol at Tony. Tony dove for cover behind the fountain, as bullets ripped into the aged concrete structure, sending debris raining down against his mask. Tony heard the satisfying sound of the mobster leader pulling the trigger of his pistol several times, he was empty. Tony rose from behind the fountain. The thug leader was slumped against the wall, amongst the bodies of the dog handler and the others who fell trying to breach the doorway. Tony and the Russian leader's eyes fell on the shotgun on the ground, laying just in front of the doorway to the conference room. It was the same shotgun Tony had thrown to the ground just moments earlier. Tony's former hostage dove for the gun, landing on his face and crawling the rest of the distance for it. Just as the gunman's hands squeezed around the handle, and he began to lift up the gun, Tony's boot stomped down against it, pinning it right back to the ground. The Russian leader grit his teeth as Tony lifted him to his feet and slammed him back against the wall behind him. Tony reached for the man's shirt collar and ripped it, revealing the bullet proof vest underneath. The vest was littered with gunshot wounds, some still contained the crumpled bullet, stuck to his chest like a metallic spit wad. He had taken dozens of gunshot wounds, and survived them all, because of that vest, but it would not save him from Tony. The gunman just glared back at him grimly, defiant till the end. Tony snorted back at him, and slammed his fist against the man's chest, against his bullet proof vest again and again, until blood spurted from the Russian's mouth, spraying his mask and eyes underneath.

Tony released his former hostage, letting it fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. Tony was beginning to feel dizzy. With no more victims trying to kill him, his adrenaline levels began to crash. Tony just powered through, he wasnt at all concerned. His body would rev back up at the site of a new adversary, or challenge to conquer. As he turned to walk away from the bloody carnage he created, his last remaining opponent growled at him from the side. Tony turned and saw the attack dog standing near its former master, growling and snapping hatefully at him. Tony raised a fist and growled back at the dog, glaring down at it with his smoldering orange hazel eyes. The attack dog cowered low to the ground after tucking its tale between its legs, whimpering. Tony lowered his fist back down to his side slowly. "Thats what I fucking thought…"

Part 2

(Earlier)

Corey's jaw dropped behind her mask. Tony had crushed the sentinel's skull against the front of the building, like a soda can, and he didnt even blink. Corey followed in the furious titans wake, marveling at his complete inhibition, as he tore the other men apart. This wasnt the same Tony she saw before at the crack house. That Tony, was a pent up time bomb, waiting to explode, to release the built up pressure he had been storing for god knows how long. Now, Tony was reveling in the release, feeding on all the pain and blood he splattered across the room. Perhaps, Corey thought, Tony had finally found himself, his true state of being that he was always meant to be… if that was the case, what a horrifying monster Tony has always been, as beautiful as he was brutal.

Corey slung the heavy bag of tools at her side as she followed Tony, worried the greedy berserker would simply destroy the entire building in his current state, leaving Corey's own personal journey to remain theoretical. As she followed Tony from the entrance to the main lobby, she suddenly hung back. She saw Tony's body stiffen, frozen at what he saw, before the explosion of gunfire tore through the air, and bullets riddled all around Tony. Corey's eyes widened as she hid by the archway separating the entrance from the lobby. Furious Tony, who wasnt afraid of anything, was now fleeing for his life as a dozen or so heavily armed gunmen chased him, guns blazing, into a room at the side of the building.

Correy felt fear grip at her heart, at the small army filing near the doorway that Tony crashed through, preparing to enter the breach, to kill the trapped tiger in his den. Corey had to do something, she had to. If she did nothing, not only would Tony soon be dead, but any illusions she had of becoming something more, the idea of "Corey the Zebra", it would all fade away, like the smoke wafting from the barrels of those rifles. Corey's heart beat rapidly in her chest, as she closed her eyes and focused. Doing nothing was not an option, she would do something. What that something would be… Corey had no idea.

Corey's brown eyes flashed open behind her mask as an idea blossomed in her mind. She scrambled to the other archway, near the far side of the wall, opposite of where Tony and the gunmen were holed up. She felt her heart beat even faster as she stepped from the archway, into plain view of anyone who cared to turn in her direction. She crept as quickly as she could, every hair on her body felt like it was standing on end, as she crossed the ten feet or so in the open, only allowing herself to breathe again, when she could duck down behind the large, crescent shaped couches around the large old fountain in the middle of the lobby. She checked her surroundings, it was clear on her side. She set the bag down and unzipped it, rifling through it until her hands found what she was looking for, a simple carpenter hammer. She gripped the wood shaft and rose from behind the couch, feeling more confident with the hammer in hand, a tool she had trained herself to use as a weapon. She quickly planned her exit strategy, the hallway towards the elevator and stairwell would be a good place to fall back too, she decided. She took aim, picking out one of the Russians holding a rifle. It was over ten feet away, a difficult throw, but she would make it, she had too. She cocked her arm back, feeling the surge of excitement and energy swirl through her body, overtaking the fear and reservation for the first time, and let her arm launch the hammer at her target.

Corey fully expected to see the hammer strike the mobster in the skull, to see him spatter apart, like they did when Tony struck them with his fists, but that was not what happened. The hammer fell wide left of her target, and instead struck a different gunman in the shoulder. The Russian winced his eyes and cursed, looking around angrily. Corey's body stiffened when the gunman's hate filled eyes found her crouching by the fountain. Corey burst from her hiding spot and sprinted across the lobby, as the Russian gunmen began to fire on her. She moved like a zebra striped blur, faster then she had ever ran before, ducking through the archway, into the divider wall that separated the lobby from the stairs and elevators. Her heart felt like it was going to explode, as her eyes darted around her surroundings. Four elevators in front of her, two stairwells on either side of them, to her left along the divider wall, the archway on the other side of the building, to her right, an empty wall. Her mind raced to compile a plan as she heard the gunman approach, yelling in Russian amongst themselves, their footsteps heavy and quick. She darted foreword and pressed the up arrow button of the elevator, before sprinting to the left. She forced her racing feet to slow down, taking quick but silent steps, as she pushed open the door to the stairwell, and crept inside. She let the door swing shut softly, keeping her body firmly pressed against it, spying at the hallway through the small but tall door window.

The gunmen stormed from the archway, the pissed off looking, injured man with the revolver leading the charge. Corey surmised the door to the elevator she had opened was beginning to close, from the way they frantically rushed towards it. The sound of curse words in Russian was clear and audible from Corey's hiding spot, and they began to span out, the man with the revolver heading towards the stairwell Corey hid. Corey's stopped breathing, as she quickly moved away from the door. Before Corey could wrestle with the decision to go up or down the steps, she heard the gunmen begin to argue. Corey crept back to the door window and took a cautious peek at the men. The other five or six Russians, seemed to be arguing with the one Corey tagged. The injured Russian gestured violently down at the ground with the barrel of his massive handgun, but the other Russians just shook their heads, gesturing for him to follow. After the rest of them began to file back towards the lobby, probably to rejoin the siege of the room Tony was holed up in, the man with the revolver finally cursed through gritted teeth, reluctantly following.

Corey waited for a moment before opening the door. She looked around cautiously, before she crept from the stairwell and out into the open. She moved down the hallway, following in the gunmen's footsteps. She fearfully poked her head back into the lobby, spotting the line of gunmen walking away from her. She sighed in relief, momentarily relieved they were no longer hunting for her. She lifted off her mask and panted through her mouth, feeling the surge of adrenaline and fear slowly start to fade from her body. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection on the elevator doors. It was a blurry image, not enough to pick out any details, but seeing it made her imagine what she looked like right now. Panicked, afraid, hiding from the gunmen and their superior numbers. She grit her teeth and narrowed her eyes. A sudden surge of determination welled up from within her, causing her eyes to water and her jaw to tighten. She had been afraid all night, afraid of dying, but it was living she should be afraid of, living with the weight that when it was time for her and Tony to answer the call, she cowered against the wall and did nothing.

She pulled her zebra mask back on and stood up straight. She could feel a sudden calmness overtake her, an aura of cool competency glowing all around her. She remembered this feeling, it was her alter ego, or rather her true self. For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself again, and she was not afraid.

Corey poked through the archway to the lobby and made a loud "Psst" noise. The gunman with the revolver stopped in his tracks and turned to to Corey, as she stood boldly in the archway. Corey raised her middle finger at him. The gunman blinked, his face more confused then anything else, but only for a brief moment. The gunman's face twisted in hate as he raised his revolver, running towards Corey with wild abandon. Corey darted back through the hallway in front of the elevators and turned around, creeping back towards the archway silently. She waited and listened, hearing the furious gunman's heavy footsteps getting closer and closer. In a moment, he would emerge from the lobby, like a bat out of hell, but Corey knew that, she was counting on it. When the footsteps were practically on top of Corey, she ran two steps foreword, before throwing one leg out, sliding on one knee like a baseball player. She timed it perfectly, Corey's leg slid in front of the gunman's, and he tripped hard against her legs, his face swinging down towards the tile floor as his feet were stopped right in their place. The mobster barely had time to try to stop his fall, before his face slammed against the tile floor, breaking his nose. Corey's eyes darted to the gun that fell from the Russian's grasp, still within reach of the mobster if he came to his senses. Corey lifted herself to a crouching position before lunging towards the gun with one hand, landing on her side, as her fingers gripped themselves around the barrel and cylinder of the large chrome revolver. The mobster was injured, but still alert, he reached for the gun, still awkwardly held in Corey's hand. Corey swung her foot foreword, striking the mobster under the chin with a wild kick, before springing back to her feet in a low crouch. She switched hands with the gun, holding it correctly in her right, cocking the hammer back with her thumb while swinging the barrel down towards the dazed Russian's face. The Russian had just enough time to look up into Corey's eyes, with an oddly calm and detached expression, before she pulled the trigger. The gunshot was loud thunderous, Corey's hand felt the kick of the weapon, jerk her arm back... and that was it. The man was dead. His head didnt explode, there was no fountain of blood, just a tiny red hole where the .44 magnum round entered his cheek, and a large pool of blood that quickly expanded from the back of his head. Corey stared at the man's frozen face, his eyes partly open, a calm stoic look permanently frozen on his face. Before Corey could evaluate her first kill, what it meant for her and her future as a vigilante, bullets ripped into the archway, tearing through the legs and groin of the dead man in front of her, as the rest of the hunting party turned and opened fire.

Corey dove backwards from her low stance, landing clear of the archway, hitting the tile floor with her shoulders, rolling backwards in a somersault, leaping back to her feet. Her tumbling practice was paying off already, she noted to herself. She glanced once more at the body, now a blood and cloth torn mess on the floor, before pushing her body through the stairwell door. She stopped in the stairwell, up, or down? A line of yellow "Under construction" tape to the basement, helped make up Corey's mind for her. She ducked under the tape and leapt down the stairs, using the railing to skip every other step and not stumble and bounce the rest of the way down, as she flew down them like a zebra striped rocket, her dark hair flowing behind her mask.

She exited the stairwell, slamming past the swinging door, and stopped to observe her new surroundings. Particle board walls, temporary walls, cheap metal chairs and tables, half finished drywall rooms, pieces of pipe and wooden 2X4's were scattered about on the hard concrete floor. It was a maze of wood, drywall and junk. She felt a sparkle of excitement behind her eyes, it was perfect.

Corey slunk through the particle board walls and ladders, scoping out the room with what little time she had, before the hunters returned. This place was riddled with blind corners and hiding spots. Taking only a few moments to familiarize herself with the layout of her new hunting grounds, she waited eagerly for the gunmen to return, then, they would find out who was hunting whom all along. From her hiding spot, crouched low behind a pile of drywall, veiled in the shadows in the dark corner of the basement, she could clearly see the doorway from the stairwell, the only way into her little maze, and the only way out.

A Russian armed with an AK-47 assault rifle was the first to push through the doorway. While Corey's eyes glittered with tears at the site of such a lovely playground, the burly Russian instead winced, scanning the infinite hiding spots she could be in. Three other gunmen followed behind the man leading the charged, armed with submachine guns and one pump action 12 gauge. Corey left her hiding spot, staying low to the ground, as she stalked the hunting party, watching them from the shadows. The gunmen followed one another in a organized column before, either by choice or accident, they began to drift apart from one another. Corey waited in her spot, keeping her eyes on the man with the AK-47, as she used her ears to keep a mental note of where her other assailants were located. She crept up behind him, leaving the shadows and leveled the massive revolver at the back of his head, steadying the hand cannon with both hands.

Before she pulled the trigger, one of the hunters shouted "Boris!" At the top of his lungs. Corey turned her masked head towards the source of the scream. One of the gunmen could see her over the top of the small wall of particle wood. Corey turned and bolted for cover as gunfire erupted all around her, sending pieces of wood splinters and powdery dry wall particles flying through the air. Corey weaved through the wooden walls and piles of drywall, but still the gunmen kept shooting. Corey realized the gunmen were firing blindly, no one had a clear shot on her as she sprinted head long into what appeared to be a future office. She pumped her arms and legs as hard as she could, her body racing towards the half finished doorway with no door. As she reached the doorway she heard someone yell behind her "Tam!" before automatic gunfire erupted all around her, this time directed at her location. Corey had milliseconds to react before she would smash head long into the cheap metal table in front of her, as she burst into the room. She slid, once again, on one knee, before rolling onto her stomach, bringing the revolver out in front of her in a prone stance. She stared through the doorway, nestled under the metal desk, waiting for her attackers come and get her.

Corey didnt have to wait long. The gunman with the AK-47 leapt into view, firing a burst of automatic fire blindly into Corey's room. Corey fired at the first thing that flashed into view, the mobsters leg. The magnum round tore from her gun and shattered through the gunman's knee, immediately twisting man's face into agony and dropping him to a kneel. Corey's second round punched through his chest, knocking him onto his back. A second gunman leaned his body into the room, leveling his shotgun down at her. Corey fired first, the magnum round tearing through the man's chest and shoulder. The gunman grunted, and staggered further into view, but still he tried to level the shotgun towards Corey with one arm, firing a shot high and wide, the buckshot tearing into the wall behind Corey. Corey pulled the trigger again, but only a loud click filled her ears.

She had only fired four times, she had been counting, but had failed to check how many bullets were in the gun to begin with. She grit her teeth and scrambled out from under the metal table, only to pause when she heard a loud thud from the doorway. Corey poked her head around the door-less frame, and saw the gunman had collapsed on his back, practically on top of the first gunman she had killed. Corey crept from the doorway slowly, checking left and right, before reaching down for the AK-47.

As her fingers wrapped around the handle of the Russian assault rifle, a burst of automatic fire tore through the air, sending bullets whizzing passed her head. Corey fell straight back, keeping her body close to the ground as bullets sliced through the air just over the top of her. She turned her shoulder as she aimed the rifle to the left in a modified stance. She took the time to look down the sites, her target near the other side of the basement, before pulling the trigger. She fired a quick burst, but only one of her four shots hit the submachine gun wielding mobster, but the placement of that shot was lethal. The bullet borrowed through the mobsters throat, tearing through the carotid artery. The mobster coughed once, spraying tiny droplets of red into the air and down his bottom lip and chin, before crumpling to a sitting position. Corey watched the man go into shock, curling his legs close to his body, as he bled out, awed by the look of lost, dazed confusion in the man's face, before she heard the sound of rapid footsteps coming towards her.

She swung the rifle foreword as she brought herself halfway into a sitting position, aiming the barrel of the rifle between her open knees. She saw through the sites of her rifle, the last member of the hunting party, raise up his Tec-9 submachine gun. Corey fired a three round burst, two of the bullets striking the mobster in the chest. The mobster stumbled and fell flat on his face, attempting to lift himself back to his feet only for a moment, before relaxing, and finally staying very still. Corey looked around herself. Two bodies were in arms reach, one far to the left, another ten feet in front of her, and she alone was left unscathed. She felt a surge of jubilation as she rose to her feet. She was triumphant, victorious and most importantly, she was authenticated.

As her mind buzzed with her pleasant self reflections, she walked over the bodies and guns, taking care not to step in the blood to create footprints. She remembered the time she ran out of bullets for the revolver, and made sure not the make the same mistake twice. She popped the magazine from the rifle, and checked it. It was empty. She frowned and slid back the action of the rifle, sending a single round flying up into the air. She didnt bother to try and catch it, throwing the magazine and rifle away. She bent down and picked up the shotgun, half cocking the pump and peeking down the action. She saw half of the red cartridge from within the action, so she slid it back into place, so as not to eject the full cartridge from the gun. She had at least a few rounds of shotgun ammo, she surmised.

She made her way back to the stairwell, still glowing from her moment of triumph. She was buzzing with electric excitement, she could take on the world in this state and still come out on top. As she pushed open the stairwell door, she cocked her head to the side, and strained her hearing. Footsteps coming from the stairs above. Corey backed away from the stairwell and quickly moved back to her spot in the dark corner, overlooking the doorway, behind the stack of drywall slabs. She got herself comfortable in a crouching position, resting her arms on the drywall slabs in front of her. She cleared her throat, and loosened her neck for a moment, before readying herself. As soon as the door swung open she fired through it, striking the emerging gunman in the stomach. The buckshot scattering eight or so tiny red wounds, through his light blue shirt and into his guts. Before the gunman even began screaming in pain, Corey had already began to move to a different spot. She crept along the wall a few steps, and waited behind a small generator, now overlooking her dark corner she had fired from earlier. As she predicted a gunman, armed with an AK style rifle slowly approached her previous position. She kept the barrel of the shotgun leveled at the gunman, waiting for him to turn around to face her before she fired. The angry cloud of metal pellets tore through his upper chest. The mobster fell straight back, as rigid as a store mannequin if you were to push it over. If it wasnt for the slight quiver in the man's brown loafers, and the twitching of his hands, he would have laid perfectly still. Corey waited until the trembling stopped, before she slunk to a new spot.

Corey again checked the chamber of her shotgun, she was empty again. As she slunk around the back wall, towards the submachine gun, dropped by the victim that had flanked her outside of the office room, three more gunmen entered her playground, the gunfire seemingly attracting more and more of them. Corey was fine with that, she was getting good at this. The last two kills were almost too easy. She made her way to the fallen man, who laid crumpled on his side in a large pool of blood from his neck wound. She kept her body low to the ground, as she delicately walked around the pool of blood and picked up the Tec-9 submachine gun. She checked magazine, it too was empty. Corey blinked and looked down the hallway. Well, she didnt have to worry about it being to easy any longer. The only guns that may have ammo in it, was the other Tec-9 around the corner, towards the middle of the room, or from the spot she had just came from, from the man she ambushed with her final shotgun shell.

She had absorbed enough of her basic training, to remember its unwise to retrace your steps when there are armed gunmen hunting for you, so she slowly crept towards the gun totting body near the center of the maze. Her heart began to race once again, she had lost track of where her attackers were at this point, and every corner and turn was a blind spot, an ambush waiting to happen. She made her way towards the center of the maze, and slowly poked her masked head to the side, keeping her floppy rubber zebra nose squished against her face. She saw her victim, lying face down, his Tec-9 held loosely in his dead hand. As Corey began to creep from her spot, a Russian mobster stepped in front of the body from the left, looking away from her, down at the body of his comrade. Corey slunk back to her spot, watching him for a brief moment before realizing, this was her chance. While the gunman turned away from her, to stare at her handy work, Corey exploded from her hiding spot, driving her body foreword with every bit of speed and strength she could muster. She took long powerful steps, her arms swinging back and forth as she ran, squeezing every bit of inertia she could from her body, as the gunman turned, bringing his AK-47 to bear on her. Corey jumped through the air, lifting her legs and swinging them foreword. She landed with her feet connecting heavily against the gunman's stomach, extending her legs at the moment of impact to drive the entire force of her momentum against the man in a devastating drop kick. The gunman flew from his feet, his rifle flying from his grasp, Corey landed on her back, against the cold concrete floor.

Before she could scramble to pull herself to her feet, she felt something heavy land on her shins. Corey winced in pain and quickly glanced down. It was the man's AK-47 that had landed on her. She quickly looked over at the gunman still flat on his back, before jerking her legs up into the air, tossing the AK style rifle towards her upper body as she sat up. She caught the rifle from the air and quickly shifted it in her hands, holding the stock against her shoulder and aiming down the sites. The gunmen only had time to weakly raise his head up at Corey, before she pulled the trigger, blowing a bloody hole through his forehead, and slamming his head back down to the ground.

Corey saw a blur of movement to her right and instinctively sprung to her feet, avoiding a blast of shotgun shot, as she sprinted through the wood and drywall corridors. Bullets ripped through the particle board walls, throwing wooden splinters against Corey's starter jacket, as the gunman continued to chase her, firing on every noise she created as she tried desperately to escape him. Corey slumped her back against one of the particle board walls and tried as hard as she could to muffle her excited breathing. She held her breath as the gunmen began to walk within inches of her hiding spot, the only thing separating the two of them, was the flimsy wall of particle board. Corey thought on that for a moment, before whirling around, firing an automatic burst in a diagonal arc across the wooden wall in front of her, creating a line of bullet holes. She listened to the sound of the gunman staggering a few steps, before dropping his gun and collapsing to the ground.

Corey moved from her position, hoping the noise of gunfire would draw the last remaining gunman, that she was aware of at least, into her clutches. She watched and waited from her dark corner, behind a large spool of cables. The last of the once bold hunters slowly crept into view. His breath was shallow and inconsistent, his eyes darted around wildly, he was bold no more. Corey realized how easy this last kill would be, a shot from her rifle, at a target less then five feet away, it was the most anticlimactic ending she could imagine. She relaxed her finger from the trigger, and waited for him to walk past her, keeping her gun leveled at him the entire time. She stalked him silently, watching him check every corner nervously, his ever footstep reluctant, probably wanting nothing more then to just carry him out of the building entirely.

As Corey continued to stalk him, she looked down at her feet, nearly stubbing them on a piece of metal. Corey smiled under her mask. It was a metal pipe, with a threaded tip, roughly the same length as a baseball bat. Corey set her rifle down, and lifted up the pipe, feeling the heft in her arms. This improvised weapon was more then a perfect bludgeoning stick to Corey, it had much greater significance. It was a weapon commonly used by Russian mobsters, and sequentially, Jacket, after lifting it from their dead bodies. Countless Russians feel to Jacket's hands, when he held a length of pipe, like the one Corey now held in her hands.

She kept the pipe low and cocked back, as she stealthily made her way back to her last victims shadow. As she approached him from behind, she saw his body stiffen, saw him tighten his grip around the pump action shotgun her carried, before whirling around. Corey swung the pipe with all of her might, striking the turning Russian in the elbow, as he turned. The Russian's face twisted in pain, as he dropped his weapon, staggering backwards, as Corey simply stood in front of him, arms holding the pipe down across her legs calmly. He looked back at her, glaring with hatred as he moved his white blazer to the side, revealing a large hunting knife in a scabbard on his belt. Corey watched him pull the knife free awkwardly with his right arm, his injured arm, before handing it off to his left. He moved towards Corey slowly, making several feint jabs with his knife and empty hand, trying to make her flinch. Corey only chambered her pipe back and waited. The mobster took a sudden step foreword, launching the knife foreword at Corey, but she was expecting such an attack, she simply mirrored his movement, taking a backwards, keeping out of reach of the knife, that swung by her masked face harmlessly, whizzing through the air. Corey swung her arms in a powerful counter strike, swinging the end of the pipe against the mobster's chin, knocking him of all of his senses, as he fell face first to the ground. Corey leapt over him, each of her feet straddled on either side of his hips, as she raised the pipe high above her head. She brought the heavy metal length down against the stunned man's skull, the first strike cracking it, the second strike spilling blood over the concrete floor, the third strike spattering the contents of the man's head through the air, sending droplets of red over her jacket and mask. Corey closed her eyes and looked away, it was a repulsive sight, even for her. She forced herself to look back, to take in what it was she had done. It was what she wanted after all, to see this color red once more. As she stared down at the back of the man's skull, now shattered open, she swallowed down the bit of vomit raising in her throat. She steeled herself by taking a deep breath, before holding up the pipe with both hands reverently, as if giving Jacket a little nod, before pressing on.

Corey walked through the basement that she had littered with corpses. She had lost count of how many she had killed at this point, but she didnt have time to stick around. Tony was still up there, and more Russian mobsters needed killing. She made her way to the stairwell, pipe in hand, taking note that the stairwell door was open. She slowly approached to the side of the doorway, hearing pained grunting, as well as seeing a pair of black dress shoe clad feet, obstructing the door from closing. She quickly realized this was the man she had shot in the stairwell, from her hidey spot behind the pile of drywall slabs. She slowly stepped into view, checking to see if the Russian held any weapons. The Russian gripped a Beretta pistol in his hand weakly, as his lips bunched and trembled, like he was having a bad dream and mumbling to himself. Corey shifted the pipe to hold it in one hand, before crouching down, taking the gun from the mobster, who let it slip through his grasp without a fight. She aimed and fired a mercy shot into the dying man's skull, the bullet striking him at the side of his temple, turning his head to the side. Corey felt it a kindness to end his life quickly and cleanly like this, after all, it was the least she could do for him. What he and his comrades had given her in exchange was worth far more then a simple bullet to the head.

Part 3

Corey heard a heavy clomping coming from the stairs above her. She opened the door, taking care to step around the dead man's feet, and took her spot on the other side of the doorway, holding her pistol up, waiting for the next hunter to come test her mettle. She heard the heavy footsteps get closer and closer, pausing at the final set of stairs, probably noticing the bloody body in the middle of the floor, propping open the door. The heavy footsteps slowed to a crawl, becoming considerably more cautious and quite, as if the heavy figure sensed he was walking into a trap. Corey sprung from around the corner, aiming her pistol at the large, burly figure. Tony's body tensed and his body began to dart to the side, before he realized who it was pointing the gun at him. Corey's eyes widened in realization, lifting the gun up and keeping her finger away from the trigger. Tony's arm suddenly sprang foreword, snatching the gun from her hand roughly, before sticking his middle finger in her masked face. "Fuck you Corey! You trying to kill me or something?" Tony snarled, doing his best to mask the embarrassment that Corey got the drop on him. Corey shrugged. "Hey, I didnt shoot you did I?" Corey said nonchalantly. Tony glared at her, his orange hazel eyes smoldering with competitive rage. "If you shot me, you'd only piss me off." Tony insisted. Corey smiled under her mask and nodded, holding her hand out, palm up in the air. Tony looked down at it, before reluctantly slapping the pistol back into her grip, much harder then necessary, causing Corey to wince as the metal gun smacked against her palm.

Tony pushed past Corey, and stepped into the basement. He looked over at the body sprawled out in front of the pile of drywall slabs and stared. Corey watched him silently, unsure what to make of his intense gaze as he began walking around the basement, moving from body to body. Corey shadowed the big brute, as he started mumbling to himself. Corey realized, he was counting. Corey waited, feeling a tad bit awkward as Tony ignored her existence during the whole sequence, unsure if she should say anything or not. Finally, Tony turned to her, his eyes wide with genuine surprise. "You did all this?" Tony said in reluctant awe. Corey couldnt decide if she should be horribly offended or not, so she just sighed and stuck the 9mm pistol into her jacket pocket, before giving a little nod. "Yep."

Tony didnt say anything more on the matter as they made their way back up the stairs and to the first floor elevators. Not that Corey really expected a pat on the head, not from him, but still, she was proud of herself, and she wanted to believe deep down, the big savage was impressed. Tony pressed the up button for the elevator, and they waited in silence. Corey held the pipe in one hand, her other hand resting on the handle of the pistol protruding from her front jacket pocket. Tony ground his teeth impatiently, and clenched his knuckles so tightly, that they cracked and creaked. The elevator opened with the pleasant chiming sound, and they both stepped inside. Tony quickly pressed the button to the top floor, or at least the top floor they could reach without a key. Corey briefly considered teasing Tony about if he managed to find the key in the midst of all the chaos, before dismissing the idea.

"Alright Corey, time for your James Bond shit…" Tony grumbled as they reached the top floor. Corey reached out and pressed the emergency stop button, before looking down at the bag of tools. She didnt know why, but she expected Tony to do that, but he just stood there, with his arms crossed, like he wanted no part of Corey's "bullshit plan". Corey knelt down front of the bag, leaning the metal pipe against the corner of the elevator. She pulled a crowbar from the bag, and handed it to Tony, who reluctantly took it after she held it, for a few seconds. She pulled out a prybar and looked up at the top emergency service hatch. "I got it." Tony mumbled, pushing Corey aside, before stabbing the pointy end of the crowbar up into the hatch until it popped open. He threw the crowbar back into the bag, or rather threw it ontop of the bag. He glanced down at the bags contents, and suddenly knelt down, opening the bag wider, staring down in disbelief. Corey watched him, feeling suddenly self conscious. "What…?" She asked hesitantly, unsure she wanted to actually hear what it was that Tony had a problem with. Tony pulled a bundled length of climbers rope from the bag and held it up to Corey. Corey narrowed her eyes angrily. "Yea, its rope, so?" Corey said indignantly. Tony just stared at her for a few seconds, instead of answering, much to Corey's displeasure. Tony finally spoke, glancing at the rope. "Why did you bring this…?" Tony asked, as if probing her. Corey shrugged. "I dont know, I thought we might need it to get up the elevator?" Corey said truthfully. Tony glanced up at the opening above them before looking back down at Corey. He dropped the bundle of rope, and grabbed Corey around the waist suddenly, squeezing them firmly between his powerful hands. Corey's eyes widened and she squirmed under his grasp, as he simply hoisted her up into the air without her consent. Corey closed her eyes tightly, fearing her head was going to crash against the elevator ceiling, but thankfully Tony's aim was true and she was shoved up against the lip of the emergency exit hatch. Corey shoved the pry bar into her jacket pocket, and used both of her hands to pull herself up, making a little grunt as she did.

She stood on the elevator and immediately got a feeling of vertigo, as the elevator moved ever so slightly under her feet. She reoriented herself, before kneeling down to peek through the hatch at Tony. "Need any help?" Corey asked. Tony scoffed and jumped towards the opening, slamming his hands on either side of it, hoisting himself halfway through in an impressive display. However, he seemed to be unable to pull himself up from there, and hovered in limbo, as he looked desperately for something to grab onto. Corey held out her hand, and Tony silently took it, pulling himself foreword and on top of the elevator. They stared up at the elevator door before them for a moment, before Corey pulled the pry bar from her jacket pocket and thrust it in between the sliding doors. Corey struggled, but managed to pry the door open a foot width, before Tony got impatient, and thrust his hands into the opening, combining his raw strength with hers. The doors slid open, giving them a view to the penthouse lobby.

Before they could take in the the modern, glass and steel lobby, they noticed the four mobster who had been left to guard the top floor, sitting around a glass table, playing cards, their weapons leaned against the sides of the lobby chairs, or down against the tile floor. They looked up from their cards and noticed the masked vigilantes for the first time, their eyes going wide in unison. Corey pulled the pistol from her jacket pocket and shook her head. "Must of missed the memo…" She said, before raising the pistol at the first mobster to reach for his gun. She fired three times, taking the first target out with a bullet to the forehead before he even rose from his chair, the other two shots striking the mobsters as they pulled their weapons up and attempted to leap away, into cover. That left one remaining mobster, who charged Corey futilely, armed with only a simple baseball bat. Corey felt genuinely sorry for the mobster as he approached, he didnt have a prayer but still her charged head long towards them anyway. If she didnt shoot him, however, Tony would step in and kill him, and a bullet from her gun would be a far cleaner death.

She aimed her pistol calmly, but before she could pull the trigger, the Russian exploded foreword, swinging his bat with startling accuracy, knocking the pistol from her hand and sending the handgun hurdling to the ground. Tony stepped aside, crossing his arms, seemingly irritated that Corey had taken the kills from him. He grunted smugly. "Need a hand?" Tony asked in a mocking tone, as Corey tried to recover the pistol desperately from the ground, only to have the mobster goad her away each time with a swing from his bat. Finally, the mobster kicked the gun, sliding it past Corey and through the elevator opening. Corey's face fell, and the mobster smirked at her smugly. "Alright… lets do this." Corey thought to herself.

Corey dodged backwards, narrowly avoiding taking a bat to the face. She dove past the mobster as he swung, rolling across her shoulders and springing back to her feet in a somersault. Corey kept her momentum and kept running, as the mobster gave chase. Tony laughed, following the two, waiting to swoop in to Corey's rescue, but not before she admitted she needed his help. "Careful Corey…" Tony said, watching in amusement. Corey ran to the wall in front of her before jumping straight towards it. She raised her foot and kicked off from the wall, turning her body in midair, throwing her fist at the attacker as she came sailing straight towards him. Her fist connected with the mobsters jaw, causing his legs to give out from underneath him. Corey fell on top of the mobster, straddling him, as she grabbed him by the lapels of his white blazer. She lifted his body and bounced the back of his skull against the hard tile floor again and again, until the mobster stopped moving. "I got this…" Corey muttered, before panting to catch her breath. Tony approached and was about to say something smug, when a sudden chime from the elevator rang in their ears.

Corey and Tony turned as a tall figure, clad in a dark suit, stepped from the elevator. His gray, taut skin, and his expressionless eyes, sent a chill down Corey's spine, as he stared at the two vigilantes, motionless. Tony's body twitched and shivered with agitation, taking a step towards his new challenger. Corey glanced at her furious partner, the look in his eyes truly frightened her. Corey didnt know who or what this man was, but to Tony, he was a challenge, an insult. Every moment the tall man spent breathing, was a moment too long for Tony. The tall man met Tony's infernal glare with a dull, dead stare, before opening his jacket, to pull an old .357 revolver from its holster. Tony charged the tall man, roaring in rage, barreling down the hallway like a hateful cannonball. He tackled the tall man back against the wall, denting in the chrome metal panel of the elevator buttons.

Corey scooped up the baseball bat from the ground, and slowly approached the two titans. She had never once before, felt like she was too small. She was the tallest girl in her school, reaching awkward puberty at record speed, and remained taller then most women to this day, but after spending most of her free time with Tony, the massive body building brawler, it was enough to make her feel like "the little one" on the team. It didnt help that he was now fighting a literal giant, so giant, Corey wondered if he had health issues and would die soon anyway, even if he didnt chose to mess with Tony. Regardless, the way Tony reacted to this newcomer was almost frightening, as if just the thought of a worthy opponent was enough to throw the already high octane Tony into overdrive, and even Corey didnt want to get in the way of that. Tony gripped the tall man by the wrist and squeezed tightly, lifting the gun up into the air away from his head, before throwing a deadly punch at his grim opponents taut face. To Corey's surprise, the tall man easily dodged the blow, using his long free arm to wrap around Tony and hold him closer, so the muscle bound brawler couldnt throw any punches. The two wrestled back and forth, and it took several moments for Corey to realize that neither opponent was gaining ground.

This was the first time she saw anyone go for more then a few seconds against Tony's wrath, and this guy was taking all of it, and wrestling it to a standstill. The grim fact must have been spinning around Tony's adrenaline fueled mind as well, because he suddenly threw himself and the tall man through the elevator shaft he and Corey had opened, driving the tall man foreword, trying to shove him off over the edge. The tall man scowled as he was held back over the elevator door opening, dropping the .357 so he could grab onto Tony with both hands, yanking the both of them over the edge. Corey blinked, as the two colossal combatants simply fell from view, through the elevator door. She heard the loud thunk, of their bodies on the elevator below, thankfully for Tony, still locked in place from the emergency stop button. Corey ran to the opening and watched as the two combatants, continued to fight on top of the elevator roof, intent on killing one another, no matter the venue.

This tall man was pissing Tony off. Every time he managed to get some distance between him and the gangly giant, he'd slip past his punch and pull him right back into hugging range, sticking to him like a giant slender tick. The tall fuck might look like nothing more then a giant ghoul, but it was clear to Tony, that he was some kind of master grappler, maybe wrestling or judo. Whatever art he practiced, he seemed intent on wearing Tony down, keeping him close so he couldnt throw a decent punch, and letting him burn up all his energy trying. Even more frustrating, was it seemed to be working.

Tony roared at the man, shoving him back and throwing a vicious hook. Tony felt his fist connect with nothing but air as he stumbled off balance. The tall man capitalized on this, and violently threw Tony to the side. Tony stumbled dangerously close to the edge. The only thing keeping Tony from plummeting to the ground, was the very edge of the elevator roof, wedged in between the arch of his cowboy boots, and his firm, death grip on the tall man's arm. The tall man looked down at him with cold dead eyes and moved a step closer to the edge, dangling Tony even further back. Tony grit his teeth in fury, as the tall man tried to slip his hands through Tony's iron grip. Tony looked back into the pitch darkness of the shaft below him, before looking back at the tall man. The tall man's lips pursed every so slightly, as if predicting what Tony was about to say and do. "You want me off so badly? Fine! I'm taking you with me!" Tony growled. Tony pushed off from the elevator, pulling with all of his might. Despite the tall man's resistance, he yanked the two of them from the top of the elevator and sent them spiraling blindly through the long dark drop.

Tony reached his hands out, clawing wildly for something, anything he could get his hands on. His adrenaline levels had never been higher, his heart beat a thousand times a minute, as desperation and the will for survival possessed his hands. His right arm wrapped itself around the elevator cable, finding it out of dumb luck more then dexterity. He squeezed tightly against the metal cable wincing his teeth as he slowed his body to a stop, that was before something heavy, something heavy and giant, grabbed onto his ankle, jerking the cable through his grip, sending them sliding down the shaft. Tony screamed and gripped the cable with both hands, managing to slow the two of them down to a crawl, at the expense of the flesh of his fingers, not protected by his fingerless gloves. Tony grit his teeth and glared down at the tall man, who looked back up at him with grim determination. Tony shook his foot, the tall man didnt let go. "Let go of my foot you fucker!" Tony hissed down at the tall man. The tall man still didnt let go. Tony kicked his cowboy boot heel of his free foot, down against the tall man's fingers, again and again. The giant winced, his grim, dull eyes flashing with concern, as his grip began to weaken and slip. "I said… let go!" Tony roared, shaking his foot free. The tall man fell into the void of the shaft without making a sound. Tony panted, relieved from losing the added weight. He looked around his surroundings, before thinking. "How the hell do I get out of here…?" as he dangled in the dark.

"Tony?" Corey said, her voice echoing off of the walls of the elevator shaft. She couldnt believe it, Tony… was gone. She saw it with her own eyes, but still, she couldnt believe it. "Tony!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. Nothing, only dark silence answered. Corey waited for awhile, before she stepped away from the open elevator shaft, turning back towards her objective.

She gripped her baseball bat, her arms cocked and ready to deliver the fatal blow across the skull of this Roman guy. Corey had wondered if it would be her or Tony that would be the one to punch his ticket, but since she was all that was left… it seemed fate had made the decision for them. She wondered if Tony would have wanted her to carry on without him, if she was somehow honoring him by doing so. Sadly, from what she gathered about Tony, he woudlnt care either way, Tony was just using these punks to feed his adrenaline addiction, it wasnt like he had a personal beef against them. Still, even if Tony wasnt the sentimental type, Corey was. She would make Roman say Tony's name before she bashed his face in. She would do Roman in, the way Tony would have, wild and savagely.

Corey walked through the sterile white, modern hallway, to the door of the penthouse. Her heart began to race, not from fear this time, but from anticipation. This was what it was all leading up to right? The final room, the last showdown… probably her last outing as Corey the zebra ever. It was fun when she had a colleague, but without Tony, or someone like Tony… she didnt know if she would have the will to keep putting her neck out on the line night after night. She grit her teeth and shook her head clear of such defeatist thoughts. Now was not the time, as Tony would say, now was the time for action.

Corey took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let it out slowly, before opening them. She was ready. She lifted her leg and kicked against the door violently. She stumbled, as her foot simply bounced back. Her cheeks flushed red as she probably should have realized she had never attempted to kick in a door before in her life. Sadly, Tony probably had, being and all. Corey took a few steps back, and ran foreword, kicking the door again, and again she bounced off. She frowned, the door didnt seem like it was anything special, maybe her technique was wrong. She thought back to an old Bruce Lee movie she had watched over at Mark's apartment. How would Bruce Lee break and enter through a locked door? She took another deep breath, before spinning in a circle, pivoting on her left foot, while twisting her right around, then straight back in a powerful spinning back kick. Her foot crashed through the door, ripping it from the dead lock.

Corey burst through the open doorway, bat in hand, plunging herself into… a dark and silent room. Other then the beam of light from the hallway, the rest of the apartment was unusually dark, only silhouettes of the megalomaniac's odd, Asian décor was visible. Corey knew there was something very, very wrong with this picture… extra guards, a giant bodyguard ambush, but nobody was home? Somehow, Corey doubted that. Corey reached out and flipped the light switches on the wall. Nothing happened. "Of course." Corey thought to herself. She crept towards the pulled blinds of the massive windows, at least the light from the cityscape would be something.

Corey stopped when she heard movement in the shadow. Something fast and light, sprinted across the room, eclipsing the beam of light behind her. Corey whirled around and gripped her bat tightly, straining her hearing, but all she heard was silence, silence and her own breathing. She made sure to stay out of the pillar of light, If she couldnt see, neither could anyone waiting for her in this room… or so she hoped. She heard movement again, tiny footsteps, belonging to even tinier feet, of was stalking behind. Corey turned and swung the bat, her bat smashing against some dummy wearing samurai armor, knocking it to the ground. Corey's pulse was racing. Whatever game the shadowy assailant was playing, one thing was clear, it was a master at it. The being in the shadows was toying with her.

Her breath quickened through her nostrils, and her heart raced as she waited, powerless to do anything else until the being in the shadows made its next move. Suddenly, the lights of the apartment flashed on at once, nearly blinding Corey from the sudden transition. Corey saw a blur of movement out of the corner of her eyes and reacted instantaneously, throwing her body backwards, landing on her shoulders and rolling back to her feet. She heard several thuds against the wall and felt a sudden vibration from the baseball bat in her hands. As she sprang back to her feet, cocking her baseball bat back, and close to her face, she noticed a foreign object out of the corner of her eyes. She reached up to her bat, and pulled the disc shaped object from her weapon. It was a throwing star, a weapon Corey recognized as a ninja tool of sorts. Corey's eyed the other two embedded in the walls and scanned the direction they must have been thrown from.

A sultry figure, holding a curved wooden staff, stepped from the bedroom doorway, causing Corey's eyes to widen for a multitude of reasons. For one, it was a small Asian woman, not the drug kingpin Roman, who had been playing with her in the shadows. Another reason, she was wearing the most unbelievably sexualized outfit Corey had ever seen. Corey could help but feel embarrassed just looking at the leather straps and buckles that all cobbled together to form some kind of bondage outfit. The way the woman's body swayed, and moaning noises she made when she breathed didnt help in make it less awkward for Corey, as the leather bound woman slunk towards her. Corey winced at the sadistic glee, nearly glowing from behind the woman's leather mask, that reminded Corey of some kind of risqué masquerade piece. "Now this is a surprise, I wasnt expecting another woman to come." The woman's voice cooed from her lips, with only a faint Asian accent.

Corey wasnt sure why this woman was here, but one thing for her was certain, Corey very much wanted to kill her. Corey cocked the bat back as her only response to the leather bound minx. The sultry woman smiled, amused by this. "Arent you a bold one, yes… a big strong American woman… I love making big American women cry." the leather clad temptress said, a manic smile spreading across her lips, and the seductive light behind her eyes turning foul and dangerous. Corey lowered her masked head and tightened her grip, she had no words for Roman's bondage bimbo. The leather bound temptress exploded foreword towards Corey, her curved wooden weapon held back behind her body as she sprinted, her small feet moving in a blur of motion. Corey waited until the final moment, springing foreword and swinging with all of her might. To Corey's surprise, the bat struck nothing but air, as her sadistic opponent leapt over over the strike. The leather clad temptress landed with one foot on Corey's shoulder, before springing backwards, using Corey to throw her body back into an graceful back flip. Corey fell hard on her rump, and winced as she rotated her shoulder. That… shouldnt have happened. Corey was supposed to be the fast acrobatic one, thats what she had been training for, but this bondage bimbo just used her as a diving board, nearly breaking her collar bone in the process.

As Corey slowly rose to her feet, the bound minx laughed sadistically, pulling two hidden blades from her staff, revealing it was just the scabbard for a light samurai sword, and dagger. Corey narrowed her eyes at the sultry woman, as she teased her own flesh, in between the straps of her "outfit" with the tip of the samurai dagger. "Whats wrong? Were you distracted by my outfit? Dont worry… I have one in your size, I'll strap it on for you when we're done fighting." The leather clad minx said with a cruel grin.

This woman clearly liked to hear the sound of her own voice, or perhaps it was something more, Corey wondered. She was teasing Corey, baiting her, poking her, she wanted a reaction, she needed a reaction. Corey stared back at the temptress silently, tightening the grip on her bat. The sultry grin on the leather bound woman's face twisted into a scowl. "You're starting to bore me!" The minx hissed, as she darted in for another attack. Corey lunged to meet her, swinging a powerful blow with her bat. The woman ducked under her attack and slashed at Corey's legs. Corey leapt back and redirected the blow down towards the woman's head. The ninja girl parried the downward blow with the smaller, dagger sized blade, before swinging the longer sword down against the bat, twisting Corey's weapon from her hands, and suspending it in between her two blades. Corey staggered backwards, not only without a weapon, but also without a clue if she would get out of this room alive.

The Asian woman spun Corey's bat around her blades like a baton for a playful moment, before throwing it over her shoulder, behind her. Corey stepped backwards as the sadistic woman approached, her arms down by her legs as she walked, with her blades pointed out to the sides. She grinned playfully, the twisted amusement behind her eyes practically sparkling. "I'm going to make you scream." The leather bound minx cooed, slashing her weapons in a flurry of attacks at Corey. Corey dove backwards, left, then right, to avoid each strike, before darting around the crazy sadist. A horizontal slash swished through the air in front of Corey, cutting through the tip of her mask, forcing Corey to changed directions. The sultry woman's strikes goaded Corey backwards, as she could do little but step away from the frenzy of blades. As Corey dashed backwards to avoid a swipe for her stomach, she slammed back into a trophy case behind her, falling back off her feet and crashing her shoulders against the wood and glass. Corey's eyes widened as the sultry woman stabbed her weapon foreword, attempting to run her through with the light blade. Corey twisted her body to the left, barely avoiding the tip of the blade, that buried itself into the wood case less then an inch from her body. Corey saw a blur of movement and the gleam of the light shimmering off of the edge of the dagger, as it swung for her throat. She managed to catch the strike by the sultry attackers hand, struggling with her to push the blade away from her neck. The sultry attacker took the time to coo at Corey, her face right up against her mask. "Why a zebra? Is it because you are my prey?" The leather bound minx said with a wink. Corey reached with her free hand and found some heavy book that had been knocked over from its stand. She swung the thick book across the sultry woman's head, knocking her flat on her back, with a loud groan. Corey briefly looked down at the cover of the book, "The Art of War, Sun Tzu" she read, before tossing it aside.

Corey leapt from the display case and yanked the light samurai sword from it it, holding the leather bound bimbo's weapon in her hands, no differently then she held the bat. The sultry woman turned to Corey from her spot on the ground. A trickle of blood trickled down her chin where the book had split her lip open. The leather bound minx sensually licked her lips, before glaring back at Corey. "I bleed… but you'll bleed more!" The sadist promised. The sadist flung her left hand foreword, sending the dagger she held spiraling from her grasp and flying towards Corey's body. Corey easily dodged to the side, avoiding the dagger that buried itself into the wall, but the sultry woman had counted on that, taking the opportunity to dart past Corey, towards the rack of swords along the wall. Corey swung her sword in a horizontal swing, which the temptress dove over, rolling to her feet without skipping a beat. Corey approached from behind just as the sultry temptress pulled a sword from the rack, and pulled the blade free of its scabbard. The leather bound sadist whirled around, her eyes burning with determination, the playful sadism no longer present behind her fiery gaze.

Corey clashed steel with the skilled, disciplined fighter, and as she probably should have predicted, she was unable to keep up with the trained combatant. Corey's movements were sloppy and wild, while her opponent moved with efficient grace and speed. Corey could only stagger backwards, and block the sultry woman's flurry of strikes, unable to put up any form of an offensive. The back of her calf slammed against a small oriental table, causing her body to topple backwards, her back landing flat against the ground, her feet propped up on the table. The sultry swordswoman swung her her blade in a powerful downward blow, aiming for Corey's foot. Corey quickly retracted her legs, avoiding the blade that dug into the table, before kicking the table foreword with all of her might. The table slid and smashed painfully against the agile woman's shins, causing her to stumble.

The leather bound woman's eyes burned with cruel hatred, as she leapt onto the table, and jumped high into the air, swinging her sword back over her head as she descended down upon Corey. Corey had to time her next movements perfectly. She threw her legs up, catching the woman falling down on her by the shins, letting her weight and momentum slide over the top of Corey, before extending her legs with a sudden burst of athletic energy, springing the woman through the air. The leather bound woman's eyes flashed with horror as she flew face first into the window. Corey heard the sound of shattered glass, and the loud, high pitch sound of the woman scream, as she plummeted down towards the cold night pavement.

Corey rose to her feet and stretched her neck to the sides, and rotated her shoulders. The fight had made her stiff. She glanced over at the large, bondage bimbo, sized break in the glass, and walked over to peer down. Corey squinted her eyes at the pavement below, the leather bound minx's body barely visible from where she was standing. Corey kicked a shard of glass over the edge, before stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, turning from the hole to walk away cool and collectedly back to the broken doorway.

Corey spotted one of the mobsters outside start to rise to his feet, shaking his head and wobbling with each step. She was almost glad Tony wasnt here to rub it in her face, but the mobster she had beaten down on the ground, whose bat she had burrowed, wasn't quite dead yet. Corey darted against the wall, holding her pilfered samurai sword up in front of her masked face. The mobster yelled something in Russian, followed by the words "Nyet, nyet!" As he ran past Corey, to the broken hole in the glass. Corey tilted her head and watched curiously, as the mobster threw his hands to the side of his head. She imagined he was left here to guard Roman's woman, and he probably wasnt going to be very pleased with his job performance this month. Corey decided he would spare him any awkwardness the mobster might encounter, from facing his boss. Corey moved towards the mobster as quickly and quietly as she could, ramming the tip of the sword through the man's back, burying it all the way to its handle. The mobster coughed and groaned, sinking to his knees, still facing the broken hole in the glass, as Corey slowly walked to the fallen baseball bat and picked it up from the ground. She walked over to the mobsters side, raising his head with the tip of the bat, before swinging it at the back of his head with all of her might. Blood and skull matter sprayed into the dark Miami night sky, through the open window and against the shattered glass, as the mobster fell foreword lifelessly, his rump up in the air almost comically, as the sword in his guts kept his waist suspended from the ground. Corey slung the bat over her shoulder and nodded to herself. She was done here.

Corey rode the elevator down to the bottom floor silently. She had done it. She had transformed, becoming as lethal as she was beautiful… the dozen or more bodies she left behind in this building could attest to that, but at what cost? Was it worth losing Tony over? She grimaced, wondering if his body would get crushed by her taking the elevator down, not that he could have survived the fall anyway. He was gone, and there was nothing to be done about it. The only thing she could do now was decide if she would continue on without him. Roman was still out there, somewhere, and it was up to Corey alone, to track him down, and take him out. Corey sighed, but she could worry about all of that latter. Right now, she was exhausted.

The elevator doors opened with a pleasant chime, for the bottom floor. The tall man's long fingered hand reached from the opening doors before Corey even saw his looming figure through the cracks. Corey leapt backwards, but in the cramped elevator, she had nowhere to run. Corey's body slammed back against the elevator wall, before swinging the baseball bat with all of her might. The bat struck the tall man across the forearm, that he raised up to defend himself with. To Corey's dismay, the bat snapped in half against the giant's bones, who didnt so much as grunt. The tall man's long strong fingers reached around Corey's throat, tightening around her neck, and lifting her from her feet. Corey struggled and glared back at the giant, who leaned his face close to her mask, his dull eyes right up against hers.

Corey raised the broken piece of bat up above her head with both hands, before driving it straight down into the giants shoulder. The giant grunted as Corey slipped from his grasp and landed back on her feet. She pressed her arms back against the elevator arm rest, throwing both of her legs out in a savage kick, smashing into the giants knee. The tall man toppled foreword, his leg giving out, and Corey took the moment of weakness to dash around the tall man. Just as she cleared the elevator doors, she felt the tall man's fingers tighten around her wrist, squeezing against her bones like sentient bars of iron. Corey staggered for a moment, before bursting foreword, pushing off with her legs with everything she had to pull herself free from the tall man's vice like grip. She winced in pain, as her body jerked, but her arm remained trapped in the tall man's grip.

She was so close to escaping, she could see the open hallway in front of her. Corey closed her eyes tightly as she felt her body swing back around, slamming back against the elevator wall. The tall man swung her to the left, slamming her shoulder and head against the wall, before throwing her to the right, bouncing off of that wall as well. The elevator shook and creaked as the tall man swung her back and forth, bouncing her body against the hard, unfeeling steel walls, until every last bit of fight was driven from her body. Finally, the tall man threw Corey against the back wall of the elevator, the back of her head slamming against the hard wall, blurring her vision. She slid slowly down the back of the elevator, onto her rump, her shoulders slumped foreword, her mind barely conscious.

The tall man knelt down in front of Corey, before pulling her zebra mask from her face. Her body was to weakened to do anything to impede him. The tall man looked down at Corey's face, his usually expressionless eyes sparkling with an actual emotion, surprise. "You're so beautiful…" His voice was thick with a some foreign accent, alien to Corey. His words cracked like a teenage boy's voice, going through puberty, most likely from lack of use. Corey looked up at the man weakly, spotting what looked like genuine sorrow behind his off white eyes. "I dont like to kill things so beautiful." The tall man said softly. Corey shifted sorely, shrugging her shoulders. "Then dont…" She muttered, looking back at him matter of fact. The tall man smiled at that. "If I dont, Roman will… he'd do things to you that are worse then dying." The tall man insisted, reaching his hands for Corey. Corey grit her teeth as the tall man's fingers interlaced around the back of her head. "I'm sorry, but he would want you to suffer, for taking his treasure." The tall man said regretfully. Corey groaned in pain, as she felt the tall man's palms squeeze against the sides of her head, pushing against her temples like a nut cracker, with Corey's skull being the nut.

Her eyes flashed open, and darted around the elevator. There had to be something she could do, something she could use, something to prevent it all from ending like this. The baseball bat shard had fallen into the corner, outside of her reach, even if it was closer her body was still stunned from the thrashing against the elevator walls. Her deep brown eyes filled with tears as she saw the elevator doors begin to close, as if the universe was letting her know, her chapter in it was likewise, coming to a close.

Tony's fingers thrust through the opening as they closed, forcing the doors back open, as Corey's eyes flashed wide with surprise. "Found you!" Tony growled, reaching foreword and grabbing the tall man by his hair and pulling his head and body back at an awkward angle. The tall man looked back and up at the tiger masked man, before Tony drove his fist straight down in a hammer blow, smashing it against the tall man's forehead. Corey saw the tall man's head snap backwards, vanishing from her sight, as Tony's blow folded the tall man's neck in half, breaking it. Corey felt the tall man's long fingers twitch and shudder against her head, before going limp, his massive body leaning foreword, his shoulders and chest resting against the elevator arm rests. Corey squirmed out from under the giant and scrambled to her feet.

She smiled to herself, under the mask, how Tony had been apparently looking for the tall man all this time, and only saved her life as an added bonus to catching and killing his prey. Tony was staring intently down at the tall man, and Corey made the mistake of following his gaze. The tall man's upside down head, bent all the way back, stared back at her, with about as much expression as he showed when the stoic giant was still alive. Corey shivered and looked away from the grotesque vision. Tony too, looked away, seemingly unnerved as well, before hardening his eyes once again, crossing his arms.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Tony asked. Corey felt an explosion of emotion, which went from surprised joy, the intense frustration at the big brute. "Where was I? Where was I? I was upstairs doing the damn mission! Where were you!?" Corey asked pointing her finger in Tony's masked face. Tony knocked her hand aside gruffly. "I fell down a fucking elevator shaft, thats where I was, I had to climb a cable back down to the basement! Yea, thats where the fuck I was!" Tony yelled. Corey wasnt sure why she was so angry at Tony, maybe it was just the adrenaline crash, but it felt good to let it out. "I was yelling your name and you coudlnt even say anything? I could have waited for you, met back up with you, I almost died like three times while you were playing hide and seek, with upside down guy over there…" Corey muttered. Tony grunted. "Well clearly, I didnt hear you." Tony said, turning around and walking away.

Corey followed him back to the front of the lobby, as they both silently took in the bloody carnage they had spread over building. Corey stole a few glances at Tony, noticing the overwhelmed look he had before when he had finished killing Conrad. Corey would never bring it up, unless Tony did first, so she was sure she would never get to talk about it, but still she wondered if the big guy was keeping some hidden vulnerability inside. Perhaps it was better if she never knew, perhaps Tony didnt even know.

"So the fucker wasnt even here?" Tony asked, as he walked towards the station wagon. Corey shook her head. "Nope… guess we gotta check where he works or something." Corey said nonchalant. Tony reached out to lift the handle of the car door, when he suddenly tensed, turning his head to the broken glass on the pavement. "Holy shit… that one yours?" Tony asked, pointing at the broken woman lying in the middle of the street. Corey blinked, noticing her for the first time, the sight of her mangled legs waking her up from the haze the exhaustion, battle had left over her. Tony walked towards the woman, and for some reason, Corey wished he didnt, like the way she was dressed somehow was a reflection of Corey. Tony blinked. "What the fuck is she wearing?" Tony asked, shaking his head. "I dont know, and I didnt ask." Corey insisted. Tony leaned foreword, taking a step towards the body, before straightening. "Shit… she's still alive." Tony muttered. Corey's eyes widened, and she walked up alongside Tony, looking down at the fallen woman's body.

Her lips trembled, the fingers of her unbroken arm curling and uncurling themselves, as her eyes searched desperately for them. "Z-zebra…?" The leather bound mixed whispered. Tony grunted and opened the door to the station wagon. "She's your kill, you deal with her." He said, not wanting to be apart of the leather clad minx a moment longer. Corey nodded reluctantly, taking a step foreword so she stood directly above her. The leather bound minx's eyes flashed with realization as they looked up at her blood stained zebra masked. "Zebra… please… my Roman…" The sultry temptress was kept alive solely by will power alone at this point. Corey sighed, and took a knee next to the woman's body. "What about Roman?" Corey asked, her voice cool and indifferent. "Please… Roman…" The dying woman said. Corey felt a pang of guilt, the woman was probably trying and make Corey promise her something, something she most likely was going to do the exact opposite of. Corey continued to listen, it was the least she could do. "Please… kill Roman… I dont want to be… alone in the darkness…" The sultry temptress's final words chilled Corey's blood. She straightened up, back to her feet, and shoved her hands in her pockets, before raising her foot above the temptress's head. "Thats the plan." Corey said coolly, before stomping the heel of her foot down onto the leather mask of the woman, crushing her skull against the cold pavement underneath.


	14. Chapter 14

"Well… this sure changes things." Alex muttered in astonishment, staring out the front window of her brothers van. She stared in utter amazement as Mark was lead down the front steps of his apartment building, his arms bound behind his back, hunched foreword, with a dark hood over his head. Ash didnt reply, he was speechless. His hands were still gripping the steering wheel and shifter, having had just pulled the car into the parking space, and put the vehicle into park. From the parking lot across the street, they had a clear view of the front of Mark's apartment building. Clear view of the abduction taking place in front of them. Alex had just managed to convince her brother it was in everyones best interest, to try and bring Mark back into the fold, to save him from himself, and to do so peacefully. Ash wanted to pistol whip Mark for putting a gun to the back of their heads, but he was just being ornery and overly protective. When he settled down, they were soon of one mind again. Mark was one of them, he shared something very few in this world could even understand. He too, carried the blood lust inside of him. Alex and Ash had lived with it alone, for all of their lives, the masked killings had only given them the idea, on what form they would take, when the two of them would finally give in to their dark desires. From the looks of things though… they may be alone with their cravings, again, very soon.

Mark's feet were slow and clumsy as he walked, like a condemned man being lead to the gallows. The man who escorted him was massive, a giant of a man, wearing what looked like some kind of chauffeur's outfit. Behind the hunched and trembling Mark, and the stoic giant, walked two men. Alex decided that the one on the left was clearly just another muscle, a tall, athletic man, wearing the usual Russian crime family white blazer and pants. Besides his typical mobster goon apparel, he had all the mannerisms of a simple bully, a proud walk, careless expression, not the look and attitude of a criminal mastermind, to be sure. The man besides the jock though… that was a different story. He was much shorter then his henchmen, perhaps only a little taller then Ash, who was a little guy himself, but the way he carried himself told Alex he was the real giant amongst them. He wore a black vest and tie under his white blazer, instead of the usual button down or t shirt most mobsters wore, setting himself apart from the rest of the mob, but it was more then the way he was dressed that spoke to Alex. She stared at the man, whose face was little more then a scowling mask, his eyes focused, determined, disciplined, now there was the man Alex wanted to see.

"I think that guy's Roman…" Alex whispered excitedly. Ash nodded his head, reaching his hand from the shifter and pointing a finger at Roman, through the van window. He cocked back his thumb, before letting it drop against his hand, making a little gunshot noise with his mouth. Alex shook her head and smiled, but otherwise kept her eyes glued onto the black Mercedes Benz, as the tall man lead Mark to the trunk. "They're putting him in the trunk…" Alex muttered, knowing she was stating the obvious, but she couldnt help it, it was all to exciting for her. Ash again nodded, watching with unblinking interest. Alex held her breath as the giant shoved Mark into the trunk, before slamming his massive fist against the side of Mark's hooded head. "Is he going to kill him?" Alex asked, her eyes glued to Mark with morbid curiosity. Ash shook his head. "Naw…" and quickly replied. The tall man reached down to Mark with both hands, leaning over him in the trunk and eclipsing their view. "Oh, wait maybe!" Ash said, quickly recanting. Alex and her brother leaned foreword against the windshield in unison, barely able to contain their excited curiosity.

Alex frowned in disappointment when the giant driver slammed the trunk closed, before she could get a glimpse at Mark's body. Oh well, alive or dead, Mark would play a crucial role in twin's fantasies after all, Alex would make sure of it. Alex turned to Ash with a gleefully twisted grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" Alex mused. Ash smirked back. "Always." He replied matter of fact. Alex ran her tongue across her upper teeth and over the corner of her lips excitedly before signaling to he brother, it was time to leave.

Roman looked down into the empty eye holes of the furious face, on the rubber bear mask. He cradled the 50 blessing agent's mask in his lap, as the driver drove the four of them back to Roman's temporary base of operation. Roman ran his fingers over the surface of the mask, trying to find any evidence of something more to the simple rubber bear head. He stroked his thumb around one of the empty eye sockets, before sticking his digit inside of it, lifting it up, and rotating it around to look at it from all angles. Why was it always an animal? Why not a ninja, a clown, a monster? It was always an animal. A rabbit, a tiger, a walrus, a snake, a rooster… they were all creatures, predator or benign, crawling the earth or swimming in the ocean. Creatures of the earth, that came in every shape, except human. They offered no real clues then, so Roman doubted the one he held in his hands would give him any answers now, but he had something he did not have back then. A living surviving 50 Blessings agent, not taken from the field, and half beaten to death and tortured, but taken from his own home, before his… kill signal, kill switch, password, whatever it was that activated the agents into merciless, programmed killing machines, had awoken the man whimpering in the trunk. The last agent couldnt give him any information, because his mind was already to far gone, from the brainwashing, or the trauma of what he had done, and what was done to him, he wasnt sure, but either way, he couldnt give any answers because he had none to give. Roman would finally get the answers to his questions, the questions that had been burning in the back of his mind all these years. He would get answers from the agent, or he would make him suffer like no man had suffered before.

The driver parked in front of "The Landing Strip", before exiting the vehicle to walk around and let Roman out. Roman stepped from the vehicle, looking up with at the tasteless name of the club, the closest thing to a business acquisition he had left, as he waited for his temporary enforcer, Dimitri, to make his way alongside him. Roman leaned to his driver, who instinctively bent his massive frame to listen carefully to what he had to say. "Take him to the room, and prepare him, but be careful. I need his mind intact." Roman said, his voice dripping with dangerous intent. Roman knew the driver would have carried out his orders without the added instructions. The driver had been with Roman for decades, long enough to understand the severity of the knowledge locked away inside the agents head, but Roman had to be sure. He could not afford anything to get in the way of discovering the truth behind the killers and the killings. More importantly, it would help him regain control, full control, back over his emotions. A sensation sickeningly similar to fear had began to fester and grow in Roman's chest, ever since he saw the symbol on the van. He knew even his own men had felt the ripple within him, the momentary loss of complete control. Roman needed to solve this mystery, to regain that control. A man who can control himself, can control others, but if Roman loses the ability to control his own emotions, then he loses control of everything.

The driver nodded and moved his way towards the trunk. Roman watched as he pulled the panting, trembling obese man from the trunk, leading him towards the front of the club by the back of his collar. Dimitri stepped in front of the agent, and smacked his hand over the top of his hooded head, causing the agent to jerk and stumble. "You like your new mask fat man?" Dimitri taunted with a playful grin. The tall man's lip shuddered before twisting into a ghastly scowl, his dull eyes staring through the amateur strongman. Dimitri's smile quickly faded, and he stepped out of the way of the driver, who immediately regained his pace, pushing Mark ahead of himself around towards the back of the club. Roman glowered at Dimitri. "Know your place Dimitri." Roman commanded. This was not something he trusted anyone within the organization to handle. He knew how capable Dimitri was, if he needed money collected, or a hired gun to get in between him and a bullet, he would have no trouble relying on the gel haired minion, but the matter at hand required tact, something he lacked. "Gather the men, we have work to do." Roman added. Dimitri obeyed, though Roman noted the look of resentment bubbling just under the surface. Roman had more pressing matters to attend to, but he would remember to break the simple thug later.

Roman watched as his temporary strongman begrudgingly shove open the front doors and push his way inside. Roman followed, watching with disgust as the meat headed minion clapped his hands loudly, yelling in English for his Russian comrades to gather around in front of the stage, where the dancing women continued to preform their sultry arts. Roman sighed, eying the rest of the patrons watching the gathering of white coated mobsters with mild concern, before continuing to drool like Neanderthals in heat, at the cheap pussy, as they swung their ass around the poles, or swished their hips as they served them their drinks. Roman turned from the hallway leading to his office and stormed towards his incompetent henchmen. Dimitri turned and winced as Roman approached. "Hey boss, I got most of them all right here. Some are in the back room getting their rocks off though." Dimitri said, eying the archway to the VIP lounge. Roman's lips snarled as he glared around at the rest of the non Russian syndicate patrons, before leaning in close to whisper over the loud, obnoxious music. "Get these fucking parasites out of here." Roman said in a harsh whisper. Dimitri blinked, probably still working out who Roman meant when he said parasites, until he finally just pointed at the nearest patron. Dimitri nodded, he understood, a small miracle… even monkeys can be trained, Roman thought.

Dimitri pulled his chrome .45 from his belt and fired a round up into the air. The entire establishment collectively winced and turned to the make shift strongman, who gestured with his gun towards the door. "Alright, official club owner and associates only, everyone else, get the FUCK out of here! Get the fuck out of here! Don't you eye ball me, I will fucking shoot you in the face!" Dimitri said, going on a little tirade as everyone not wearing a white blazer quickly filed out from the bar, giving the gun flailing mobster a wide berth as they did so. The dancer's and waitress's quickly retreated to the dressing room behind the stage.

The rest of the mobsters looked amongst themselves, before staring up at Dimitri expectantly. "Whats this all about Dimitri?" One of the mobsters said, eying Roman as he walked down the hallway to the back offices. Dimitri cleared his throat and did his best to look authoritative. "Listen up men, we're going to war! Some masked psycho's hit Conrad, and probably killed Viktor too." Dimitri said boldly. Mikhail, one of Dimitri's personal comrades, just shrugged, unimpressed by his master and commander routine. "To war? Against who exactly…?" The mobster muttered. Dimitri groaned, and gritted his teeth. "Against… them, you know… **them**." Dimitri said, not wanting to actually say 50 Blessings. The name had run synonymous with the "boogy men" of the Russian crime syndicate. It was more legend then reality to them, even though so many had died, and so much was lost by the masked crazies. Perhaps it was because they never left anyone alive, left the whole incident almost surreal to the surviving mobsters in Miami.

The rest of the mobsters, thankfully, seemed to get the severity of the situation, and didnt ask anymore questions on the matter. Nestor, the large, long haired mobster, leaned back on the couch before speaking. "Well, what do we do now then?" He asked. Dimitri stood up straight, regaining his composure. "For now, we wait. Keep your eyes open, and your guns handy. I'm going to go check back with the boss." Dimitri said, turning around towards the hallway. Nestor chuckled and pulled his Scorpion submachine gun from under the table in front of him and chambered a round. "Got it." He mumbled before leaning back on the couch, setting the now loaded weapon in front of him. As Dimitri began to make his way to the back rooms, several of the dancing girls, now fully clothed, were making their way from the changing rooms towards the front exit. Dimitri stopped them with a wave of his gun. "Hey! Where do you think you girls are going, get your ass back up on stage and keep dancing." Dimitri said, pointing to the stage with his pistol.

Roman walked briskly towards back room, that had once been a second office. Roman had long since repurposed it to fit his needs. As he swung open the door to the room, his ears were greeted by the gasping, gurgling chokes of the captured operative trying to breath through the stream of water being poured over his mouth and nose. The large, rotund man, Mark, tried desperately to turn his head and twist his body, but the driver held his head still with his long fingered grasp, tightened around his neck and chin. The driver poured a steady stream from the pitcher, down across the squirming man's mouth and nose. The dark hood was still tightly fitted over the obese man's head, doing nothing to prevent the flow of liquid into his lungs, the water simply seeping through the black fabric. Another henchman, who had hung up his white blazer and blue shirt, wearing only his tank top her wore underneath, held Mark's legs to the table, occasionally striking the bulging belly of the fat man, to knock the wind and fight from him, stunning him so he could only accept the stream of water through his mouth and nose, in place of the oxygen his body so desperately needed.

Roman was pleased with his drivers choice of torture, to soften him up before the real interrogation began. To say that water boarding was simulating drowning, was untrue. A far more accurate description of it, would be a controlled near drowning. The only thing that separated water boarding, from drowning, was the degree of which the interrogator would go. Instead of dunking the victims head in a pool of some kind, the steady stream allowed the interrogator to control just how much of the liquid entered the victims body in place of oxygen. The victim still struggled to breath, sucking in water through his mouth, nose and lungs, desperate for air, desperate to keep the body and mind alive, as he did when drowning, so the only real difference was how the water was delivered. Even still, drowning, while unpleasant to say the least, fit the restrictions Roman had made sure to emphasize onto the driver. It kept the mind alert and unharmed, unless the driver was so careless as to push him to far, as to make Mark pass out from lack of air. Even still, they could simply force Mark awake with a jolt of pain, to begin the process anew.

Roman gestured towards the simple chair underneath a hanging lamp, in the middle of the room, before walking to the table full of devices. He set the rubber bear mask down upon the table, before he ran his fingers over the blades, hooks and spikes with a certain level of affection, before tapping the more primitive, brutal devices, like the simple electric power drill. He gripped a baseball bat that had been fitted with nails, clipped off into jagged pointy triangles, and lifted it from the table, swinging it through the air, to warm himself up. He would use every object on this table, if that was what it took, to make the operative talk, and he will enjoy every moment doing it.

As Mark gasped and whimpered, as his hands were unbound, just to be rebound around the back of the chair, Roman set the bat down and walked in front of the captured agent, standing before the trembling, hooded man. Roman reached foreword and pulled the hood from his head with a quick jerk. Mark shook his head and flinched, as if expecting a blow to the head. His wet, stringy strands of shoulder length hair fell around his face in a jumbled mess, as the fat man squinted his eyes underneath, as if trying to hide behind the dripping locks. Roman stood over him, looking down the fat man as a cat would a mouse. Roman couldnt help but allow a little sparkle of amusement blossom behind his eyes, at the discomfort of the man before him. Even if the task at hand was momentous for Roman, it didnt mean he wouldnt take pleasure from his work.

Roman waited for a full minute, while the fat man shuddered before him, before finally speaking. "Do you prefer Mark, or Marcus?" Roman asked cordially. Mark's bottom lip trembled as he attempted to speak several times, before gaining the courage to raise his voice. "Mark." Mark whispered. Without giving the fat man any warning, Roman quickly pulled his pistol from his white blazer, and thrust it against Mark's forehead. Mark reacted rather typically, no different then most people when put in his situation, he turned his head and leaned back as far as he could, squinting his eyes tightly while simultaneously peaking from the tiny crack, unsure whether it was scarier to see the gun pressing against his head, or simply feel it. Mark grit his teeth and began making short, high pitch grunts in the back of his throat, as Roman kept the pressure of the barrel tight against his skull. It was nothing Roman hadnt heard before.

Roman spoke firmly, each syllable of each word carefully passing through his mind with cruel, purposeful intent behind them. "Do you see this Mark?" Roman said, pushing the gun even harder against the fat man's skull. Mark only whimpered in response, but Roman continued anyway. "This right here, is the only mercy you will ever receive from me." Roman promised, twisting his lips into an indignant scowl. A loud cough, then turned into a cry, escaped Mark's lips. The agent's lips trembled over his gritted teeth, and bitter tears began to stream from his eyes, down his cheeks. Roman glared down at him, keeping the gun in place, unwavering. "This is not a threat, it is a promise. The bullet in this gun the only salvation you have left. You will learn to love this bullet, because its the only way your getting out of this room." Roman continued, as Mark continued to blubber. He held his gun against Mark's head for another full minute, before finally raising it up, clicking on the safety to add a audible release to the fear he was trying to instill upon Mark. Mark looked up, his eyes searching desperately for a rhyme or reason, from Roman's scowling mask of a face.

"However… have been known to reward those who act sensibly." Roman said, adding a bit of gentleness to his words. Mark's brown eyes, now bloodshot from tears, lit up, hopeful at even the slightest hint of making it out of this room alive. Roman continued. "It would be sensible, to tell me, everything you know… about 50 Blessings Mark." Roman said, his voice as gentle as he could make it, while still retaining the deadly intent. Mark's eyes went wide, his mouth dropped. Roman knew immediately, before Mark even spoke a word, that he was going to lie to him. "Oh… I dont know…" Mark began with a trembling whimper.

Mark's eyes nearly bugged from his head, as Roman straightened, breaking his gaze from the fat man, and began to loosen his tie. Mark shook his head wildly, as Roman removed his white jacket top, and turned to hang it up against the door coat hanger. "No no, I'm serious, I dont know much more then most about the group, please no, please just listen, listen please… please…" Mark said, his voice becoming less and less comprehensible, and more high pitched the longer he spoke. Roman rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, making sure to neatly cuff them over his elbows, before pointing at Mark's chair with a snap of his fingers, and then once more at the drain pipe next to the table along the back wall of the room.

Mark squealed and winced, as the driver lunged towards him, with grim determination. The driver dragged the large burly fat man in his chair, towards the back wall, before flipping it on its back. Mark winced in pain as his head bounced against the ground, before his terrified eyes searched around for whatever it was Roman had in store for him next. Roman walked over calmly, next to Mark's head, his feet aligned with the fat man's shoulders. He extended his hand towards the athletic henchman who held the full pitcher of water in his hands. The henchman quickly handed it Roman, watching with anticipation at what would happen next.

Roman turned to his driver, and most faithful underling, as he held the pitcher in his hands. "Gather the rest of the men, and wait for me at my home. When I'm finished here, I will meet you there." Roman said. The driver moved immediately towards the door, but before his long arm could reach out and open it, Roman's hand flew to the drivers arm, gripping it tightly. The driver blinked his dull eyes and turned to Roman once more. "Break out all the guns of the armory, machine guns and shotguns in back, bats and pipes up front… protect my treasure." Roman said, feeling a sudden welling of powerful, troubled emotions from within him.

He didnt know why, but he had a feeling, an instinctual premonition, that they had been monitoring his home for awhile now. It stared out with that black buffoon, Darius. Over a month ago, Darius and his women, were recognized by the doorman, to have been sniffing around the place. Roman had the man followed back to his den of iniquity, only to find he was in some kind of fan club worshiping the acts of Jacket and the rest of the masked killers. His feelers reported back that they consisted of mainly punks, many with drug related charges, wannabes, pretenders trying to latch onto the masked killings no different then the rest of the idiotic Americans, glorifying them on the big screen and television. In the end, Roman decided it wasnt worth the effort to even make an example out of Darius. It would in no way put a dent in the cultural sickness infecting the country. The glorification of hyper violence against Russian's, mobster or not. All the more reason for Roman to continue to sap the wealth from the countries veins.

His driver left through the door, and Dimitri entered in his place, walking in quietly like someone returning from a bathroom break during a church sermon. Roman turned his attention back to the whimpering man on the floor. He then poured half of the pitcher out into the drain near Mark's head, causing the fat man to flinch. Mark's eyes widened with surprise, before twisting into discomfort, as Roman unzipped his fly, and pulled his member free from his pants. Roman watched Mark for a moment, as he looked away fearfully, before beginning to urinate into the pitcher, turning his attention back onto his work. Roman tapped himself dry, and zipped his fly back up, after making himself decent once more. He held the pitcher, now full once again, out to the burly henchman, who took it from the criminal kingpin reluctantly. Roman looked down at Mark, whose face was curled up in disgust and despair. "Well Mark, lets try this again…"

Roman pulled up a stool in front of the coughing, gagging obese man. Mark was once again in the secure and upright position, and was trying to force himself to vomit, spitting out mouthfuls of mucus filled saliva down against his large pot belly. "Answer the question Mark, so we can move on." Roman said firmly. Mark continued to spit from his lips, down into his lap for awhile, before answering. "Yes… I killed them…" Mark muttered in between his gagging and spitting. Roman leaned closer to the fat agent. "I know you did, how did you do it?" Roman asked knowingly. Mark spit a wad of saliva from his mouth before murmuring. "I set an ambush… in my store… shot um." Mark said, his voice carrying all the weight of a condemned man. Roman stood and walked back towards the table of blades and tools. Roman didnt see, but he could almost feel, Mark's entire body wince, as Roman's fingers stroked themselves over the various maiming devices. Roman finally made his selection, before making his way back towards his stool.

Dimitri, and the other henchman Roman never bothered to learn his name, stood by the doorway, watching with increased excitement, of the tool the kingpin held in his hands. Roman dusted off the stool, before sitting down on it, facing Mark. Mark closed his eyes tightly, twisting his lips back in a grimace, showing his gritted teeth, that would occasionally clack together in fear. Roman reached for the power drill, that he held, resting on his lap. Roman waited for a moment, savoring Mark's attempts to try to will himself somewhere else in his mind, before reaching the drill bit up towards Mark's head. He pulled the trigger, and the corded drill spun through the air with a mechanical shriek. Mark flinched his body back, before thrashing against the restriction of movement. Roman smirked and relaxed his finger from the trigger of the drill, raising the now still bit in front of Mark. "Did I get some of your hair? I think I did…" Roman said with a soft chuckle.

Torture had always been an intimate experience for Roman. Before he understood the value of control, when he was little more then a power hungry thug, he received a unusual level of satisfaction from breaking another human being, that he did not find anywhere else. Only in times like now, when his victim is at his mercy, his attention fully received, did he feel comfortable truly being himself. He looked at Mark, who was doing his best to turn away from Roman, shielding his face by turning his head, hiding behind the stringy brown hair. "Look at me Mark…" Roman commanded softly. Mark shivered and flinched, before he reluctantly turned his head to face Roman, keeping his eyes down to his loosened tie. "If my associates had it their way, they'd be putting one of… these… to you." Roman said begrudgingly, spinning the drill bit again with a pull of his finger, jabbing it between Mark's knees. Mark spread his knees apart to avoid the drill, and once again began thrashing against his binds. Roman calmed the man with a back handed slap across his mouth. "Do I have your attention Mark? Good." Roman said, as Mark's face was scrunched together, as if trying to flinch the flesh of his face together, to shield him from further blows to the head. Roman continued. "I dont like to use such primitive methods, not right away. If I started drilling holes through your knees, you'd begin to lose blood. You need that Mark, your brain needs that, and I need whats inside your brain." Roman said. Mark only shivered in response, not that Roman expected him to weigh in on the matter. "I want you to think very, very hard for me Mark. I need you to tell me, who your associates are." Roman said, leaning foreword in the stool. Mark hesitated, a sparkle of recognition behind his eyes betrayed him, as he quickly shut It away, behind a face of piteous ignorance. "I dont… know anyone from 50 Blessings… I swear, I swear." Mark whispered desperately. Roman simply reached his drill out to his associates. It was Dimitri who stepped foreword quicker, taking the drill and placing it back on its spot on the table. Roman kept his hand extended, palm upright, as he spoke one simple word. "Knife."

Dimitri grinned, and eagerly grabbed the largest, scariest knife on the table, really just a big hunting knife, and handed it to Roman's awaiting reach. Mark had begun muttering rapidly, unable to fully stammer out a complete thought. Roman picked up he was trying to enforce, that he knew nothing, and he only knew what he read about the phony patriotic hotline, known as 50 Blessings. Roman wasnt interested in listening any longer. Mark was resisting, mixing truth with lies. He needed to break him of his resistance, before the truth could flow unrestricted. Roman pulled at the collar of Mark's t shirt, who whimpered and leaned as far back as he could. He sawed the razor sharp blade through the collar, the only part of the thin garment of cotton that offered any resistance, before simply dragging the blade down through the front of the shirt, splitting it open, revealing the obese man's disgusting body.

Roman held the knife out, waiting for Dimitri to come along and take it, before snapping his finger at the small machine near the table. Mark's eyes blossomed with fearful curiosity, reluctant to look, but unable to stop himself from staring, as Dimitri pivoted the gas generator operated device on its wheels and carted it alongside of his chair. Mark's breaths had become rapid and shallow, his eyes darted across the mysterious machine parked alongside of him. Roman smiled at Mark, as he held his hand out once again, and once again, Dimitri placed something in his grasp. Mark's eyes widened as he recognized the cables Roman held in his hands, a black and red connector, negative, and positive. Dimitri pulled the cord of the generator, letting it whir to life, roaring into Mark's ear, before finally calming down into a slow and steady chug.

Roman reached to the knob on the machine, just to his left, and turned the numbered knob to the fifth power level. The knob was numbered, zero to ten, with one being enough to cause an irritating tingle, and ten enough to set fire to whatever flesh or clothing it remained in direct contact with. He only used the tenth level as a scare tactic, or to leave an intimidating corpse. Roman touched the connectors together, causing an electric discharge between them, a tiny lightning strike, sending flickering sparks twinkling down to the ground. Mark winced and continued to whimper, still as pathetic as before, with no signs of deep programming presenting itself. Roman set the knob back to zero, before opening the black colored connectors metallic jaws, squeezing his hand against the tightly wound spring tension, as he reached it towards the fat slob's sagging nipple. Roman released the jaws of the connector with a loud snap, causing Mark to scream in surprise, as the metal teeth dug into his sensitive flesh. The tension of the metal clamp was tight enough to break the flesh, letting dark colored blood to run down his bulbous stomach. Mark's screams slowly became a pathetic whimper, and he kept his eyes tightly closed, trying to escape somewhere deep inside of his mind. Roman would not allow that, the slovenly sleeper agent must be here, with the pain, with Roman, for him to fully break. Only then, would Roman be able to pick through his mind's shattered defenses and extract the truth.

Roman slapped the back of his hand against Mark's cheek, forcing him to open his eyes. He pushed his face up close against Mark's, his nose pressing against Mark's nose, as he squeezed the connectors metallic clamp tighter with his hands, digging the serrated jaws deeper into the fat man's flesh. "Focus on the pain Mark… this is the best it will ever get." Roman hissed through his teeth, before clamping the second connector to the fat agent's remaining breast. Mark screamed and thrashed, before begging, crying out to try and stoke Roman's mercy. A futile endeavor. "Stop! Stop please! I dont know anything! I dont know anything!" Mark screamed, burning through the last of his pathetic endurance by screaming and struggling against his binds, beginning to pant and wheeze from exertion.

Roman leaned back, waiting for the fat man to regain his breath. Roman suddenly smirked, he let out a genuine chuckle through trembling lips, as if failing to repress it. Mark watched Roman through despair and pain ridden eyes, as his torturer began to chuckle, recollecting some past memory. "Dimitri… do you remember when we took the city comps mistress here? You were there, right?" Roman said, an uncharacteristically personable tone in his voice. Dimitri's sadistic smirk faded, as he shook his head. Roman shrugged. "Ah, you werent there were you…? Well, the thing about torturing women… they break, almost immediately." Roman said, beginning to chuckle again, interrupting his own train of thought. Mark's face was twisted in revulsion and disgust as he watched the man laugh in his face, as he sat there, powerless to do anything about it.

"This woman, she swore up and down, she would never betray her man, said she loved him, believe it or not. One of the harder women Ive met… but when I put her in that chair, the one your in now… she told me **everything** and I mean everything. We had more then enough for blackmail, she was telling me about his peanut allergies, before she even felt the sting of the electricity." Roman said with a smirk, glancing over at his henchman in a show of gregariousness. Mark lowered his gaze down to his lap, trying to block out both the pain from the connectors in his flesh, and the revolting story Roman so candidly shared. Dimitri smirked as he leaned back against the wall behind. "Maybe its a tit thing? The woman probably took pride in how her tits looked." Dimitri said with a shrug. Roman made a face, as if his henchman's comment was something thoughtful. "Could be… this woman, you should have seen her Mark, she had a really, really, great rack. Almost as large as yours, you fat fucking slob." Roman said with a mocking laugh. Mark grit his teeth gently, but otherwise said nothing, as the two henchman joined in with the laughter. "Do you have even a shred of self control? Or do you just eat anything your fat fingers find themselves around?" Roman said, in an almost playful voice. Mark's lips curled into a small snarl, as he sat there, hunched foreword, otherwise unresponsive. Roman chuckled and waved his hands in the air. "Wait wait, I know this has nothing to do with the interrogation… but I have to know, I have to know, what does it feel like… to have to lift up a big blob of fatty flesh, every time you want to see your own dick?" Roman said with a sadistic, tooth filled smile. His henchmen continued their laughter, with Dimitri even adding to it. "That guy has not seen his dick in years, no way…" Dimitri piped in. Roman turned to his men, as if their opinion mattered. "Who wants to put a bet, that this fat fucks a virgin?" Roman said in a cheery voice. Dimitri shook his head. "Oh no, I bet he's had some pussy sometime in his life…" Dimitri said with a grin. Roman gave his men an incredulous look. "This tub of lard? Nothing he hasnt paid for. A thousand dollars, he has to pay to have women root around in his rolls, to try and find his little prick." Roman said, laughing at the thought. Out of the corner of Roman's eye, he could see Mark beginning grind his teeth in frustration. Roman turned back to Mark. Mark had raised his head, his lips were trembling, not with fear, but anger. His pained, reluctant eyes, managing to spit forth a spark of fire as he hissed his words at Roman. "Fuck… you." Mark whispered.

The laughter of the henchmen faded, as did the look of amusement on Roman's face. The kingpin's face slowly turned into an expressionless mask, his eyes unreadable and empty. Mark braced himself, his look of minor hostilities already beginning to shrink back inside himself, already regretting his petty display of anger. Roman's dark eyes searched Mark's face, moving them around it in its entirety, before finally speaking. "Is that it…?" Roman said softly. Mark narrowed the brow over his already pain squinted eyes. "Is this all the aggression you can muster?" Roman said in disbelief. From the man who murdered his enforcer, he expected so much more. He had been pushing his buttons, so obvious Mark might as well of flashed with red lights "Im an insecure fat tub of lard", and this was all that came out? There was something resisting Roman, secrets he still hid away, behind his pathetic cowardice, and Roman would not stop until the fat man's mind was flayed before him.

Roman's expressionless face reverted back into its usual, hateful scowl. Roman spoke quickly his words running into one another unnervingly. "Now what was it we were talking about ah yes I remember now, who contacted you about 50 Blessings?" Roman said, his lips trembling into a snarl as his hate filled eyes bore into Mark's defeated, broken gaze. "I never made contact…" Mark pleaded, his eyes dripping with despair filled tears. Roman cranked the knob, sending a fifth level jolt of electrified power through the fat man's body. Mark's muscles clenched and spasmed at once, his teeth ground together, filling the air with the sounds of gurgling, as he tried to scream through a tightly clenched jaw. Roman turned the power down before barking a new question. "Where is your cell located?!" He yelled. Mark just shook his head. Roman cranked the power again, higher this time. Mark writhed, trying to squirm from his own body to escape the agonizing sensations. "Where are the rest of the operatives!?" Roman yelled, an intense anger, welling up from inside of him. Mark shook his head before muttering. "They dont exist…" He said. Roman cranked the power level two nine, watching as every muscle in Mark's body tensed and spasmed, until he could do nothing but thrash back and forth, in a rhythmic, electrified dance.

Mark panted, his head bowed down, his long, damp, stringy hair, veiling his face. Roman maintained the questioning, repeating the questions again and again, for hours now, but Mark had no answers for him. Roman was beginning to believe the big man, that perhaps he simply had no idea that he was brainwashed to begin with. He had gotten more information from the first agent he had the pleasure of interrogating, he at least acknowledged he was brainwashed, if not indirectly, by admitting he had no idea why he was there to begin with. If only Roman had knowledge of 50 Blessings then, perhaps he would already have the answers he had been digging in Mark's mind for. Mark was sticking to the story, he did not know what 50 Blessings was, which was a lie, and that he did not join them or have any contacts with them, which was also a lie. Mark tried to hold out, to redirect again and again, but Roman had spent enough time sifting through the fat man's mind with electricity and pain, to see there were several secrets, the fat man was holding onto. That was fine with Roman, they had time, they had all the time in the world to burrow them out.

Roman held the rubber bear mask in his hands, as he sat across from Mark. He stared at the bear face thoughtfully for a long while, before glancing up at Mark. The obese man had lost consciousness again. Roman waved over the burly henchman, who brought the pitcher of water with him, dashing the cold liquid out over Mark's face and chest. Mark awoke with a start, wriggling against his binds. Roman figured the fat man probably hoped he had just woken from a bad dream, but now, he was really here, with Roman, and he wasn't going anywhere. Mark eyed the mask in Roman's hands reluctantly, cautiously, as if afraid to make eye contact with it. Roman held the mask out in front of Mark, who moved head away, recoiling from it. "Is this the trigger Mark?" Roman asked calmly. Mark shook his head. "There's no trigger…" Mark whispered. Roman moved the mask back down to his lap, staring down at its empty eyes. "Is the mask an escape Mark?" Roman mused, stroking the rubber fur indents that covered the mask's exterior. Mark began to cry, his face twisting into a pained grimace, as tears began to flow. "Y-yes…" Mark sobbed, his voice broken, truthful, pure. Roman nodded. "You put on the mask… to become something else." Roman said thoughtfully. Mark just sniveled through his gritted teeth, his eyes tightly clenched. This was what Roman was looking for, truth at last. "Why do you do it?" Roman asked, keeping his eyes on the mask. "I dont know…" Mark muttered miserably. Roman believed him, he was just as confused and tormented as the first agent he had interrogated.

Roman slipped the mask over his face. It was unpleasant at first, before the eye holes and airways lined up. Mark's lips trembled as he lowered his gaze from the mask. Roman leaned his masked face towards Mark. "Look at me Mark…" Roman said in a quiet, but harsh tone. "Look at me." He repeated. Mark slowly, reluctantly, rose his broken gaze onto his own mask. Roman stared at him, but it was not his eyes through the eye holes Mark was terrified of. Roman let the mask do his talking for a long while, before finally cutting the silence with his now muffled voice. "This mask holds no power Mark…" Roman said, before peeling it from his face, welcoming being free of the sticky, suffocating thing. Mark's crestfallen expressions made no real change as Roman's words entered his ears. Roman walked away from the stool, and hung the mask up on the door coat hanger, making sure to angle the angry, bellowing bear face to look towards Mark. He wasnt sure what it would do to Mark, if anything, to have his escape staring back down at him, but it made Roman curious none the less. Mark looked up at the mask, before looking down at his knees, broken, detached, just where Roman wanted him.

"Who are your associates…?" Roman said calmly and deliberately. Mark had become the mental equivalent of silly putty. Mark mumbled through his lips, unwilling to open his mouth. "Alex and Ash… twins… friends from the war…" Mark muttered. Roman smiled, relishing the victory, as Mark gave up the last bit of resistance he had left. Mark kept his head down, veiled behind the stringy damp locks of hair. This all made sense to Roman, Mark was a veteran of the Hawaiian conflict, if these twins were also ex soldiers, they shared something in common with Jacket, the only known 50 Blessing operative he was aware of. Finally, Roman had a piece of the puzzle, and with Mark's mind in the state it was now, he needed only to keep asking questions, and more pieces would fall into place.

Roman let his hand drop from the generator powered machine, he would not need it from here on out, the fat man's mind was broken. "When did you first join 50 Blessings?" Roman asked casually. Mark hesitated for a long time before answering. "After Jacket… made the news." Mark said slowly. Roman frowned, this shouldnt be happening… Mark was lying. He reached out and turned the knob, punishing Mark with a seventh level jolt, before asking another question. "How did you make contact with 50 Blessing?" Roman asked, his eyes boring through Mark's veil of tangled hair. Again Mark hesitated, and again he lied. "I… went to their offices, and they hired me." Mark mumbled. Roman blinked in surprise. He was lying, Roman could tell. He could almost see the gears turning in the broken man's mind as he clumsily threw together the story. He was telling Roman what he wanted to hear.

"Why are you lying to me Mark?" Roman asked. Mark didnt respond, his eyes were looking up towards his mask, seemingly lost inside its empty eye sockets. Roman gave him nearly thirty seconds of an eighth level jolt, pushing his luck, flirting with the possibility the electricity would stop the fat man's heart, assuming obesity didnt beat him to it. "Why are you lying to me… Mark?" Roman repeated. Something was changing in Mark, his lips trembled, and pulled into a pained, reluctant look. There was something else inside of Mark's mind, something so close to the surface, Roman could smell it, over the scent of body odor and charred flesh. Whatever it was, Mark's mind was hiding from him, it terrified the fat man, his body trembled from fear, but not of Roman, not of the electricity induced torment, but of the mask staring down at him. Was this the sign of programming Roman had been looking for? He expected something more organized, triggered by some phrase, conditioned into the mind through repetition… but this was something different, something repressed and malformed.

"Why did you kill my men Mark?" Roman asked, changing the question. There was some eternal conflict going on inside of the fat man, that transcended the torture. Roman had to know what it was. Mark's lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind his stringy damp hair, his defeated and passive look fading, transforming before Roman's eyes. He looked up through the stringy, tangled locks of damp hair, his eyes welling with anger, as his lips quivered with hateful emotions. "Because I wanted to." Mark said in a quite snarl. Roman reached for the dial, but stopped. The electricity was punishment for lying… Mark was telling the truth.

a sudden concussion shook the entire building, with a loud explosive boom. Roman sprang to his feet and looked at the door, as a second explosion rippled through the walls. Roman's eyes widened, as the sounds of screaming and gunfire filled the air. Roman couldnt resist the shiver that ran through his body, as the blood curdling screams were cut short by the sounds of a terrible, revving engine. His henchman scrambled to their feet, and pulled their pistols from their holsters, looking at the closed door fearfully, before looking back at Roman. Roman didnt know what to say or do, as his henchman stood before him, frozen as they waited for instructions. Roman was paralyzed by a sickening feeling he hadnt felt in a long, long time. Roman was afraid.

A low, guttural sound awoke Roman and his henchmen from their daze. They turned their heads in unison, to where the passive, mentally fragile Mark had been sitting. In his place, something violent and furious glared back at them, its brown eyes alight with rage, as it clacked its teeth together in fury. "Mark…?" Roman whispered, as Mark continued to make his growling, guttural noises in his throat. Mark's hate filled eyes burned through the stringy locks of hair, as his lips sneered into a frenzied snarl. "You better pray to god they kill you…" Mark said, his voice loud and furious, quaking against Roman's ears with the thunder of a lightning storm. "Because if they dont… I'm going to tear you apart! I'm going to fucking kill you! Im going to **fucking** kill you!" Mark screamed at them from the top of his lungs, rage somehow fueling his depleted body. Roman pulled his pistol from its shoulder holster, and shoved it against Mark's forehead. Mark ignored the gun completely, even as it pressed against his skull painfully. His furious eyes stared past it, burning against Roman's as if he was trying to consume the kingpin with rage alone. Mark continued to scream, thrashing in a frenzy against his binds, trying to break the ropes for the sole purpose of killing Roman. "Ill kill you! Ill kill you! Ill fucking kill you!" Mark continued to scream, kicking his feet and bucking with his upper body.

Dimitri's eyes were wide with horror as he spoke. "Shoot him! Fucking shoot him!" Dimitri yelled in a panic. Roman ignored Dimitri. He was frozen in awe of the man, who no longer feared death, no longer feared torment. Within an instant, he had changed from a meek, pathetic loser, to a wild and savage animal, thirsting for his blood. Roman finally awoke from his trance, after breaking eye contact with the murderous, consuming fire behind Mark's eyes. "No… they're coming for him, we can use this." Roman said, forcing his voice to sound confident, even though it was little more then an educated guess. Dimitri grit his teeth in reluctance, as he stared at the berserk fat man, now simply glaring and making growling cries from the back of his throat. "Fuck…" Dimitri whispered.

Roman sneered and struck the berserk fat man across the temple, with the barrel of his Walther PPK pistol, silencing the screaming brute. Roman walked over to the table of torture, and lifted a simple pump action shotgun from it, and tossed it to Dimitri. A shotgun is a very effective tool, for blowing off small limbs and extremities at close range, but equally as effective at guarding a doorway from crazed masked murderers. Dimitri caught the shotgun, nearly dropping it, before securing it with both hands, putting his pistol in his belt. "Use this, cover the hallway, dont let any of them through, do you understand me?" Roman said fiercely. Dimitri winced, and nodded hesitantly, before Roman swung open the door, and shoved him through it. Dimitri jerked the shotgun down the hall, his eyes wild as they darted back and forth, waiting to blast the first shadow that moved.

Roman waited a moment, to see if Dimitri would be cut down in a hail of bullets, before poking his head through the doorway, checking to see if it was clear himself. When he saw the hallway was empty, he sprinted towards his office at the end of the hall, trying to remain as dignified and controlled as he could, while fleeing to his office to hide. Roman didnt think it was possible, but every fear and worry he had placed deep down, in his subconscious, had culminated together, into the perfect storm. He was shaking, shaking with fear. Roman shut the door of his office, and placed his back against it, as he tried to slow his rapid breathing and racing pulse, even as the sounds of tortured cries, gunshots and that gas powered device roared through the air. 50 Blessings were coming for him. In his attempt to reverse the situation, and learn what he could about the shadow organization, he had somehow lead them to his front gates. In his attempt to gain control, he had lost control. So Roman waited, for the bloodthirsty psychos to come. He waited to see who would prevail in the end, the one who spent his entire life trying to gain control, over himself, over others… or these masked maniacs who reveled in chaos and death, who gave up their control for primal savagery and lost themselves in their bloodlust. Roman had never been more afraid.


	15. Chapter 15 (WARNING GRAPHIC CONTENT)

Alex tightened the tension of the brand new cutting chain she purchased just for this occasion. She ran her finger over sharp jagged edges of the chainsaw links, letting the jagged pointy teeth create little indents against her flesh. She poured the fuel through its bright red container, down into the yellow funnel, carefully filling the tank. She caressed her beauty, her partner in crime. Alex held the chainsaw housing against her bare skin, closing her eyes in affectionate grace.

Soon…

In the other room, sitting on the couch in his batman boxer shorts, Ash peered through his mask, as his fingers worked to drive the metallic brush through the barrel of his gun, now disassembled into pieces spread out before him onto the table. He brushed, cleaned, and oiled his weapon, taking care of every piece, every spring and pin, relishing every sound and sensation as he did so, as well as the smell of the oil. He reassembled his weapon, taking his time, taking great care, treating it like the artifact it was, a blessed vessel, that contained not holy water, not the skin flakes of some dead saint, but cold lead that became hot lead, before drilling its way into some poor fucks body. He loaded every bullet into his magazine and spare magazine, meticulously, before sliding one into his Glock 17, chambering a round. He shivering from the auditory pleasure, of the mechanical clack of the gun racking the round into the chamber. The weapon was now hot, which meant it was ready to kill. Ash's body was now hot, which meant it was ready to kill.

Alex stood in front of the full body mirror in her white bra and panties. She was wearing her swan mask, and had been wearing it, since they first returned home. She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself, at her true self. She had been waiting far to long, and soon, she would wait no longer. To her complete surprise, she felt calm, as if she was still in the haze of a pleasant dream. A warm sensation, a gentle excitement glowed in her belly, as her fingers caressed her bare stomach. Her belly was tingling from anticipation.

Soon… very soon…

Alex didnt turn her head, but watched Ash through the reflection of the mirror, as he opened the door to her room, and walked up behind her. He had no reservations about approaching her in her underwear, anymore then she had of him in his boxers. Even if they were the squeamish types, they were not Alex and Ash right now, they were Killer Swan Number One, and Killer Swan Number Two. Two bodies, one will.

Ash waited behind Alex silently. They had remained mute since their drive home from witnessing Mark's abduction, as possible murder. They had decided long ago, that the Killer Swans, did not talk, they let the saw and the gun do the talking for them. Anything they wanted to know about their intentions, they could get from the cold unfeeling bills of their swan faces.

Alex reached down by her feet and picked up a thin, long length of white cloth, handing it to her brother. Ash took the strip of cloth and waited patiently, as Alex turned towards the mirror and undid her bra. She let the bra lay where it fell, before raising her hands to the top of her head. Ash wrapped the strip of cloth around her chest, before tightening it behind her back. Alex made a gesture with her shoulders that Ash instinctively interpretative as "Tighter." Ash pulled the cloth around her chest tightly, painfully flattening Alex's breasts against herself. Alex could help but feel a small welling of pleasure from the experience for some reason, as her brother began to tie the knot in place. Killer Swan Number One didnt have breasts, it didnt have a gender. She wasnt a pretty young woman with blond hair and blue eyes, living in Miami with her brother. Ash wasnt a scrawny smart ass, who was good with his hands. They were leaving their human shells behind. They were becoming natural disasters, forces of nature.

They stood side by side in front of the large mirror, as they began to change into their alter egos. Alex removed her mask first, revealing her long blond hair, pulled back in a tight bun, setting her alter ego aside for the time being, so she could slip the neon green t shirt over her head. Ash did the same, setting his mask against hers in front of the mirror, as he too pulled the green t shirt over his neatly shaven head. They then hoisted up the dark green cargo pants, loose and baggy, giving their legs freedom of movement and hiding their shapes further. After a slightly awkward dance of attempting to pull up their socks, they leaned on one another, as they stood on one foot after the other, before lacing up their black steel toed boots. Alex grinned excitedly, as they tightened the straps of the hot orange knee pads on, and slipped on their fingerless gloves of the same color. Alex was getting more excited, now was the time for the more exotic pieces of their outfits.

Alex was the first to turn and help her brother pull the spray painted athletic pads over his head, and tightened it to his body. She yanked the straps tightly, giving it an open handed smack on his bright orange shoulder pads, sticking out boldly against the green padding around his upper chest and back, making the lithe young man look bulkier, more powerful then his true agile physique ever did. Alex couldnt stop grinning like an idiot, when it was her turn, as she shimmied her body, to help the sports armor slip over her head and raised arms. Ash calmly tightened and secured the pads of her sports armor, as Alex checked to see if her bun had started to come loose. Alex could barely contain herself, as Ash stepped towards the bright orange backpack, hoisting the heavy pack in his arms.

Ash had packed them a surprise, something her mischievous brother managed to hide from her, much to her surprise. Pipe bombs, filled with black powder, fixed with a simple fuse commonly used in fireworks. Her dear brother had made Alex very very happy. Ash helped Alex slip the backpack over her arms and shoulders, locking it in place with the clack of the buckles snapping together. Alex bent down alongside her brother, and they reverently lifted up their masks. They slid their alter ego's back over their heads, and took the time to stare at themselves in he mirror. They both stood motionless in front of the reflections, a sense of awe welling up within the two. Alex reached her hand out and touched her brothers bare fingers, before gripping his hand tightly in her gloved hand. Ash kept his gaze foreword as did Alex, as he squeezed her hand back. Alex and Ash didnt say the words, but they were both thinking them. "One body, one mind." as their fingers intertwined.

Alex released her brothers hand at the same time as he released hers. There was still one last piece of their alter egos missing. Alex hefted her chainsaw in her arms holding it up and close to her body in a dramatic pose, grinning behind her mask like an idiot. She couldnt help it though, it was all just too wonderful. Ash lifted his pistol in a similar pose, and they took another long moment to stare at themselves. It was finally happening, and it was all happening very soon.

Alex stroked her beauty, resting uncomfortably on top of her lap, as she would a big bright orange cat, as she stared straight ahead through the van windshield. She ignored the discomfort, other then shifting from time to time to avoid cutting off circulation, as she held her saw close to her body. Ash drove the van calmly in the seat besides her, following the rules of the road to the letter. It all felt like foreplay to Alex, well to be fair, this entire night had been foreplay, if not vulgar, gratuitous mental masturbation. The irony of her brother driving so politely, so lawfully, as they made their merry way to commit ultra murder of genocidal proportions… it made Alex feel warm and tingly inside.

Ash parked the van right in front of the strip club. They stepped from the vehicles in full outfit. Alex lead, walking fearlessly towards the front door of the club, as her brother quickly followed behind, following her footsteps like a shadow, in ways only a practiced twin could. That was how the Killer Swans operated, Number One would lead, causing mayhem and death with the saw, while Number Two would follow, like a guardian angel, or devil in this case, shooting anyone who dared threaten his Number One. However, for now, Alex had to follow, since the only actual planning they prepared for their upcoming massacre, was how to implement the pipe bombs. For that, she followed Ash's lead as he opened the door, carefully breaching the front, moving in a cone pattern to sweep every angle, like the good protective brother he was. Ash had done a little "Scouting mission" a few days back, to get a feel for the layout of the building for one of their potential targets. Alex didnt go with, to create less of a footprint. No one would think twice of the scrawny young man gawking at some trashy, college drop outs and single moms, but a young man and his twin sister? It was just as well for Alex, she didnt want to see some cheap tramps getting paid to grind their diseased asses on her brother anyway.

She followed Ash as he crept passed the empty reception window, and past the ATM machines along the wall. In front of them, was a large curtain, the only thing separating them from the bad music, flashing lights and dry ice machine generated fog. That tacky sheet of cloth, was the only thing separating them from their unsuspecting victims. Ash signaled Alex stay still, so she obeyed, keeping her hand tightly gripped around the handle of the starter cord of the saw. He held out a tiny object resting in his open hand to Alex, who immediately reached out and took it. It was a single ear plug. Alex took the tiny foam object, and reached it under her mask and stuffed it into her right ear. Ash walked behind Alex, and unzipped the backpack, pulling the two pipe bombs free. Ash then shuffled the bombs awkwardly in his right hand, while he fished for the lighter, finally finding it and lighting the fuse of one of the bombs. Alex held her breath in anticipation and glee, as Ash lit the the second pipe bomb with the lit fuse, and crept toward the curtain. This was it, their long awaited massacre was about to begin.

Alex pulled the curtain aside quickly, and Ash instinctively threw the lit pipe bombs, one after the other, spacing one closer then the other, before both of them fell back through the archway, their backs flat against the wall. A loud explosion rocked the building to its foundation, followed by a second, equally glorious boom. Alex shivered in pleasure, as the sounds of panicked screams and yelling filled her ears. She pulled the handle of the starter cord wildly, as her beauteous saw roared to life. She revved the engine in her hand twice fast, letting them hear the growling beast that came for their blood, before leaping through the curtains, her saw blades whirring through the air.

Before her, utter pandemonium. The bombs had done their work. The mobsters were in a state of disarray, some clutched their eyes, screaming in pain, others staggered around like zombies, blood leaking from their blown out eardrums. This was just as intended. It wasnt the bombs job to kill them, if any of them died from the explosions alone, Alex would be very disappointed. Ash could have filled the bombs with pennies or nails, sending projectiles of metal flying like bullets in all directions, but he didnt. The bombs were meant to stun, to discombobulate them, to leave them at the mercy of Alex's saw.

The first mobster to stagger into Alex's view was clutching his eyes, screaming in panicked agony. Blood streamed from his fingers, as they tightly clamped over his damaged globules, his other hand waving his Mac-10 submachine gun around wildly. It was too Perfect. Alex swung the roaring spinning blades of her saw down across the man's stomach. The sounds of the man's tortured screams, of the whirring saw blades whipping through wet sticky blood and slippery organs... it was all a sweet symphony too Alex's ears. She pulled the saw deeper through the dying man's belly, his screaming becoming low, gurgling groans. To her surprise, as she pulled the whirring teeth through the other side of the man's belly, it sent a flesh colored strand of the man's intestines shooting off to side, spattering against the ground in a off pink, bloody pile. Alex felt a wall of endorphins hit her like a like a ten gallon bucket of cool water on a hot summer day. She grinned with pleasure, as the man fell flat on his back, in a sinfully beautiful heap, before stepping over him. She swaggered through the chaos, through the flashing lights, through the dry ice smoke, through the pipe bomb smoke, through the screaming strippers cowering or running around, frantic and blind. Alex had her first taste of blood, and she was still thirsty.

Ash aimed his pistol over Alex's right shoulder, firing two shots, the loud cracks of the gunfire muffled by the single earplug in Alex's ear. The bullets ripped through the air and lodged themselves into the skulls of two mobsters, sending a lovely cloud of pink mist out from behind their heads, that was gone as quickly as it appeared. The two mobsters fell, the only two in the room who had enough cognitive functions to raise their weapons at the invading maniacs, dropped to the ground as lifeless husks. Ash was amazing. Every step Alex took, Ash stepped right where her foot had left. Though they had been practicing this for years now, Alex couldn't help but beam with pride for her guardian brother. He followed her like a satellite, like a tail mounted turret, accurately plinking any mobster who dared threatened his precious sis with a bullet between the eyes.

A mobster stumbled, raising his pistol up at Alex as she revved the engine of her saw, charging the man with a bloodthirsty abandon. Ash decided it was too close for comfort, and fired a shot, striking the man in the upper chest and shoulder. Alex grit her teeth in frustration, even if Ash was right, and stopped the man from shooting her, she really wanted to be the one too kill him! She swung the whirring saw blades across the man's face, half embedding them into his skull as she flicked him aside. She didnt feel like ripping up his body as he fell, it would be disrespectful, that was Ash's kill, not hers.

In front of Alex, was a table full of white powdery mounds of cocaine, and three stunned mobsters and one curled up, cowering stripper. They were sitting on a couch against the back wall, still stunned from the pipe bomb going off in front of them. Alex's heart sang with joy at the sight. She made eye contact with one of the mobsters, a heavy set, long haired man with a deep gash on his forehead, where a fragment of the bomb must have flew past, cutting him open. His eyes widened with terror at the sight of Alex, no of Killer Swan Number One, as she eagerly stalked towards him. Her eyes were wide themselves, as she pointed the saw straight out, revving the engine, pointing at the mobster with the spinning chain, calling him out with the loud whirring roars of the engine. She wanted him to know, that the saw was alive, that it was hungry, that it wanted him above all else. The mobster's lips trembled in fear as he stared frozen, as Alex's brisk pace, brought the revving saw, pointed straight at his face, approaching closer and closer. Alex could barely even hear the rapid gunshots of her brother, firing off to the side at the rest of the mobsters who were starting to reorient themselves. Alex didnt care, her eyes were locked onto her prize, relishing every jump, every jerk of the man, as she revved the engine, as if her fingers were pressing down on the fear portion of the mobster's brain, and not the throttle.

The mobster finally came to his senses enough to reach for the Russian made submachine gun amongst the cocaine and piles of pills. It was far to late for that though. Alex raised the saw up, whirring the blades gratuitously up into the air, before bringing it straight down onto the mobster. The mobster screamed a short but sweet, high pitched squeal, as the spinning blades carved through the top of his scalp, and drove itself down into his skull. His screams were quickly cut short, as Alex dragged the saw all the way down to his neck, cutting his head in two pieces, bisecting his brain.

She pulled the saw free and revved it through the air, spraying blood droplets everywhere, along the wall behind the remaining mobsters, up into the air, down onto the petrified strippers hair, and most importantly of all, back against Alex's mask and clothing. She staggered back as she revved the saw, swinging it around wildly, as if the saw was somehow gaining control over her, as if it was twitching and jerking in her tireless grip, wanting to kill and maim all on its own… the pleasurable endorphins pumping through Alex's head was as overwhelming to her, as it was traumatizing to the remaining mobsters.

The mobster at the very end of the table had managed to pull himself from the addled state the bomb had left him in, only to begin screaming in panic at the sight of the blood drunk Alex, bisecting his comrades skull. He finally got the bright idea to leap from the table and run for his life. Alex swung the saw as he tried to run by, the spinning blades catching the tendons behind the man's knee. The mobster's face twisted in pure agony as he fell to the ground face first, rolling onto his back to look down at his half severed leg, before screaming himself red in the face.

The mobster who had been wedged in the middle of the table, could only pull the cowering stripper against himself, seemingly for comfort, as she kept her hands placed firmly over her face, to shield her eyes from the blood and horrifying sights in equal measure. Alex turned to see the mobster eye the submachine gun, gripped by the lifeless hand of the mobster, who only manged to curl his fingers around the handle postmortem, when his entire body contracted, as the saw had entered his brain. The mobster shoved the stripper aside, sending her face first across the bisected mobsters lap, before reaching for the gun, trying desperately to jerk it free from the dead man's stubborn grip. Alex couldnt help but smile at the sight, before reaching out with the all to eager, whirling teeth of the saw, slicing through the man's arm at the elbow, like an electric knife through warm butter. The mobster gasped before screaming his lungs out, falling back onto the couch, his arm remaining on the table. Alex grinned, she had "disarmed" him. Her grin spread even wider over her masked face, as she raised the saw, revving the engine unnecessarily into the air, before bringing the spinning blades down, carving through the tortured man's shoulder, making a conscious effort of missing his lungs as she removed his arm as neatly as one can with a gas powered saw. Blood pumped from the mobster, through both of his severed limbs, as his screams slowly began to die down, and shock over took him. Alex tilted her head, and watched the horror in the man's face slowly twist to become distant, as his mind detached itself from what was happening to its body.

Alex turned her head slowly to look over her shoulder at the remaining mobster still screaming. She stared back at him with a menacing gaze, as the mobster on the ground gave up trying to stop the bleeding in his leg, and instead tried to scuttle away, in a laughably futile attempt. Alex revved the saw wildly, as she whirled around at him, stepping towards and walking over his legs as she kept the saw foreword, shaking it up and down as she revved the engine again and again. The fallen mobster threw his hands up, before screaming actual words from his lips. "Wha! Whuh! Wait wait!" The mobster managed to blurt out, before Alex simply flicked the whirling saw blades across one of his hands, sending two of his fingers spinning through the air. The mobster screamed and let his head fall flat back against the strip club floor, gripping the wrist of his injured hand down by his stomach, as he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. Alex stomped her heavy boot down across his chest, driving the wind from the mobster's lungs, before reaching down with the idle blades of the saw, pressing it against the side of his neck. The mobster kept his eyes tightly closed, as Alex squeezed the throttle, carving a brutal line through his neck and throat. The mobsters eyelids opened briefly, probably out of reflex, as only the whites of his eyes showed through the cracks in his eyelids, just before his head fell free from his neck. Alex stood over the decapitated body for a moment, before kicking the severed head, sending it bleeding and rolling across the strip club floor. Beautiful…

Ash continued to scan the area, like his head was on a pivot, his gun held purposefully in his hands. He had been watching his sisters bloodthirsty back, as she rampaged through the Russian men's bodies, carving and hacking away at them piece by piece. For Ash, a simple bullet to the brain was enough to quench his blood thirst, but his sister… she was a marvel. She was terrifying, savage, sadistic and cruel. Even he didnt predict that his sister would be this good at it, she didnt hesitate, he doubted she even blinked, as he sent the Russian's screaming to the afterlife. The screams of fear and torment, had to of been effecting the rest of the still living Russians. He had spotted at least two of them running into the back room, through the big curtain to the "VIP" room, before he could get a shot of at them. Ash knew that a room labeled VIP in a seedy joint like this, was just a spot to for the women to work out more private rates. A good old fashion hustler would get the job done cheaper, Ash mused.

Ash reached out and touched his sisters shoulder pad, and pointed to the curtain. Alex immediately began moving towards the VIP room, and the game resumed for Ash. It was no easy work, following in the bloodstained hurricanes footsteps. She moved with maniacal, frenzied steps, which Ash had to do his best to follow, as her guardian shadow, aiming the pistol over her shoulder as they moved as one. That was why the Russians here had no chance. They were not fighting two attackers, Ash and his sister were one. One body, one mind, one singular goal. To kill every last one of them as violently as possible.

Alex was about to simply storm through the curtains, with a rev of the saw, before Ash tapped her back, stopping her. She paused and waited for his input, turning her head back at him. He pointed at the wall along the side of the curtain, while he moved and pressed his shoulders against the opposite side. Alex moved to her position opposite of her brother, pressing her back and shoulders against the wall, revving the saw three times out of impatience. Ash held his open hand out in a simple gesture. Alex moved her finger away from the throttle, letting her shoulders raise and slump, in a silent sigh. Ash smiled under his mask, before turning his head back towards the curtain. He strained his hearing, over the sounds of Alex's idling engine. He couldnt hear anything, but he had a feeling they were waiting for them.

Ash held up his hand again, before reaching out and tugging at the curtain twice fast, then quickly moving his hand away. As he expected, gunfire ripped through the curtain, punching it full of holes. Ash waited for the gunshots to pause, before whirling around the corner, poking the barrel of his Glock through the tiny crack against the wall, before pulling the curtain back to get a clear view down into the hallway. To his surprise, he initially saw nothing, just an short, empty hallway that lead into a room with four other small rooms, also hidden behind curtains. Ash heard the metallic clack of a magazine being ejected from a gun along the wall to his right, where the hallway ended. Ash lead, and Alex followed, as they moved quickly down into the hallway. Ash pressed his back against the wall, glancing at his sister who stood impatiently, her finger continuously tapping the throttle, as if trying to see how close she could get, half pressing the throttle trigger, until it "accidentally" roared itself awake.

Ash could hear the mobster attempting to reload his pistol, less then five feet to his right, with only the corner of the wall separating them. Ash whirled around the corner, with his pistol held out to the side, his head tilted, as he swept the barrel of the gun under the mobsters chin, pressing it tightly into his neck. The mobster's panicked breathing and his fumbling hands, froze in the action of trying to reload his sub machine gun. Ash quickly scanned the rest of the room. None of the other mobsters had dared come out from behind their curtains. A room full of professional tough guys and killers, reduced to cowards.

Alex stepped into the room alongside her brother. She glanced briefly at the floor, where four of the strippers had collapsed onto their knees, face down and shielding their heads, or simply rocked back and forth in the fetile position. She walked a few steps into the center of the room, moving her masked gaze across the curtained off rooms, rooms containing more victims. She moved her gaze back to Ash, as he held the mobster at gunpoint. He looked so awesome, with the gun sideways, like some gangster or something, his head tilted to the side. She wanted to break her own rule and tell him so, but she quickly repressed her silly thoughts.

Alex stepped over one of the cowering skanks, as she moved to the other side of Ash's human shield. Ash had the mobster facing away from him, his arms in the air as they trembled uncontrollably. Alex slowly eclipsed the human shield's field of vision, staring at him with an intense, longing gaze, behind her blood splattered mask. The mobster kept his gaze down and to the left, avoiding Alex's gaze as much as the chainsaw that gently rumbled and purred in her hands. Ash straighted his head and turned to her, moving his head towards the mobster ever so slightly, and giving a small shrug. Alex grinned, he was asking her if she wanted him. Ash quickly stepped away from the henchman, before Alex mashed her fingers onto the throttle twice fast, holding it down on the second press, before swiping the hungry spinning teeth of her beauty across the horrified mobsters belly. The teeth of the saw caught themselves on the mobsters intestines, ripping it from his belly and spraying it against the wall besides them. Alex's eyes sparkled with delight, as the man's intestines stuck to the wall momentarily, and for that moment, it looked as if someone had taken a giant flesh pink colored can of silly string, and sprayed it against the wall.

One of the curtains flung itself open and a panicked, but enraged mobster emerged. The mobster's eyes darted rapidly around the room, spotting the two green and orange colored mass murderers, and leveling his pistol. Ash had been waiting for one of the curtains to open though, and had beaten him to the draw so thoroughly, he took his time and placed his bullets. Ash's first round ripped into the man's lower abdomen, causing the desperate mobster to stagger. Seeing the fight hadnt completely left the man, he fired again, striking him slightly higher then the first round, and more to the left. The mobster's eyes widened with shock, and then twisted into agony. He fell face first, crumpling and curling into a pain filled ball, letting tortured, groaning cries escape through his gritted teeth.

Alex smirked again, under her mask. Her brother seemed to be trying to copy her, giving his victim only a gut wound, and letting him slowly bleed out, so his screams would demoralize the rest of their victims. Leave it to her brother to over think something as simple as a painful death. She once again took the lead, beginning to walk foreword, as her faithful brother, and shadow at arms, returned to her footprints. They moved slowly around the curtained rooms, the gentle sputtering of her lovely saw sending a sober doom through the hearts of the cowering tough guys, who chose to wait behind the curtains for a few more moments of life, then try to come and out and confront them.

Alex walked over to one of the curtained small rooms, slowly, letting the sputtering of the engine build the anticipation. She pressed her side against the wall, keeping her body out of the line of sight of the room entrance, before reaching out and jerking the curtain twice, like her brother did before. Alex barely had time to move her arm out of the way before six shot rang out rapidly from the other side of the curtain. Alex reached back out and pulled the curtain back, darting her head through the opening briefly, before pulling it right back behind cover. Her eyes widened as her mind processed the sudden glimpse into the room. She shoved the revving saw into the room before her, before letting the rest of her enter. Just as she thought she saw… the mobster was sitting on a bench, his back against the wall of the small room, but it was the gun in his hands that drew Alex's attention. The action was slid back, the mobster was empty. The mobster didnt even try to reload, he simply stared at Alex, his mouth partly open. A stripper at his feet was down on her knees, face first against the ground, her hands tightly knitted above her head. Alex didnt move, she stood in the entryway, staring back at the mobster. Time seemed to stand still… until Alex grew bored.

Alex threw the saw foreword, revving it rapidly, before charging the man. The small room might as well have been a tomb, giving the terrified victim no room to evade or maneuver. The mobster threw his hands out, screaming in horror, as the chainsaw wielding juggernaut fell upon him. He tried futilely to block the blurring blades of the saw with his pistol, causing sparks to fly, jerking the gun from his hand as well as his index finger. The mobster screamed through grit teeth as he shielded his head with his forearm. Alex brought the saw down through his arm, carving through the mobster's flesh and bone, before plunging the whirling blades deep into his stomach. The sound of the blades whirring through the air changed pitch, getting lower, muffled by the organs and meat all around them, as Alex twisted and turned the saw back and forth into the man's stomach, spraying blood all over the front of Alex's athletic armor and mask. She finally pulled the spinning blades free, unsatisfied with the bloody mess before her. She revved the engine again wildly, before dragging the saw blades through the man's neck, severing it from his body. The mobster's head fell to the side, his open neck spewed blood up into the air from the severed arteries. Alex stared at the human blood fountain she had created, as if it was some new kind of demented modern art, even as her brother fired several rounds from his pistol behind her.

Ash spotted the man trying to break out into a mad dash for the door, and whirled his pistol around to fire on him. The first few shots missed, but the third found its way into the back of the man's knee, exploded outward, ripping his kneecap from his body. The fleeing mobster staggered and fell to his hands in knees, letting out a tortured yelp. Ash took careful aim, as the mobster tried to limp around the cowering strippers, only to trip and fall over one of them. Ash pulled the trigger, firing a well aimed round into the back of the fallen mans remaining knee, whose screams of agony were partially muffled by gritted teeth, and the ground pressed tightly against his face.

He took a step foreword towards the downed man, before a sudden hail of bullets exploded from the curtains of the last unchecked room. Ash blinked in surprise, as a bullet dig into the hard floor at his feet, before dashing backwards, through the curtained room, smacking his back against his sister. Alex shook herself from her daze, looking back over her shoulder at her brother, and away from her organic art piece. Ash bolted through the entrance, strafing towards the curtained doorway, where the hail of bullets had torn through. He waited until he was aligned with the entryway to the curtained room, before firing in a horizontal line, using the momentum of his body to aim, as he continued to strafe back out of the line of fire. A guttural grunt, following a high pitched cry came from the room.

Alex stepped from the curtained room and began to move towards the last pocket of resistance, taking a position on one side of the curtain, as Ash pressed his shoulder against the other. Alex pulled the curtain back, and her brother quickly poked his head into the room. Ash barely avoided a bullet to the masked face, as he pulled his head back, just missing the torrent of gunfire exploded from the Russian made submachine gun, in the mobster's hand. Ash waited for a pause in the gunfire, before reaching his gun arm through the opening, blind firing three more rounds into where he thought the gunman might be.

A loud, horrified scream emanated from behind the curtain before a figure dashed through it. Alex lowered the saw out in front of her, hoping to use it as a close line for the figure, as it rushed out. A half naked stripper exploded from behind the curtain, gripping the gunshot wound in her arm. The teeth of the saw slammed against her neck, but luckily for the stripper, Alex didnt press down the throttle, so the static teeth of the saw only scratched and dug into her flesh, creating bloody but superficial wounds. The stripper stopped dead in her tracks, her throat against the saw. She looked towards Alex, her eyes wild with fear, as her body trembled like a leaf. Alex rolled her eyes in annoyance under the mask, before bringing the heavy chainsaw housing foreword, smashing it into the stripper's head. The stripper fell to the ground like a ton of bricks, and laid their, motionless.

Ash ducked his head out towards the entrance and thrust his pistol into the small room in front of him. Before him, the mobster coughed, and gently pawed at a mortal wound to his abdomen. The arm that had been holding his gun hung limply against his side, the wound in his shoulder making it to painful to lift. Ash stepped further into the small room, keeping his gun arm outstretched, his pistol pointed right between the eyes of the mobster as he slowed his approach. The mobster gently snarled his lips in grim defiance, as Ash grew closer and closer. Ash pressed his pistol against the man's forehead, pushing the back of his head against the wall behind him. He stared into the dying mobsters eyes, who only glared back stoically. "I will not beg." The mobster spat out with a final defiant sneer. Ash hesitated, his finger had began to squeeze around the trigger, only to loosen at the sound of the man's words. Ash took a step back, keeping his pistol raised. The mobster only stared back at him, uncertainty beginning to creep into his sneering face. Ash lowered his pistol, and stood in front of the mobster for several seconds, before turning around and exiting through the open curtain. The mobster's breathing quickened, as his eyes fearfully darted around the entrance to the room.

Outside the mobster's room, Ash took another step from the entrance, before turning to his sister. Alex revved the saw wildly, her fingers shaking as if they were possessed as they pressed down on the throttle again and again, before barreling through the entrance to the small room. Ash smirked at the sound of the mobsters voice as he managed to utter the words "Nyet! Nyet!" before it was drowned out by tortured cries.

The sound of a sudden groan caused Ash's head to turn. Just to his right, slumped up against the wall, he saw a mobster clutching his stomach, trying to keep the blood from draining from his multiple gunshot wounds. Ash noted the man, who he had gut shot earlier, was no longer screaming, but mostly grunting and mumbling to himself, letting an occasional pained moan escape his lips. Ash took a few slow, deliberate steps towards him, until he stood hovering over the slumped gunman. The fallen gunman didnt notice Ash as he first approached. The gun man's blurry eyes seemed to focus on the shapes in front of him, before looking up at the masked swan face staring down at him. Ash watched as the man's eyes went from surprise to horror. Ash kept his gun down at his side, his body motionless, his eyes unblinking, as he watched the dying man raise his hand up to shield his face. "Wait." The mobster managed to croak out, in a horse, raspy voice, before Ash raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the mobster's thumb, separating it from his body, as the mass of metal continued its path, sinking itself through the mobster's cheek. Ash relished the sight, as the back of the man's head exploding outward, splattering against the wall behind him in a splash of blood and tiny bits of fleshy particles. He watched as the mobster fell to the side, the back of his head smearing a red curved line, as mobster slid to finale resting spot.

Ash tilted his gun to the side and glanced at the exposed barrel, as the action remained locked back in place. He was empty. He waited patiently for his sister to return from the curtained room. As she stepped from the room he moved to once again shadow her in her footsteps, taking a moment to glance back into the room Alex had exited. Ash blinked his eyes in surprise, she had hewed the man into so many pieces, it was brutal and over the top even by her standards. He pressed his hand against Alex's shoulder pad before she could walk any further. Alex stopped, allowing Ash to unzip the orange backpack, and replace his empty magazine with a fresh one. His thumb pressed the slide release, snapping the action foreword and chambering a round from the magazine. Alex continued walking, at the sound of her faithful guardian, Killer Swan Number 2, locked and loaded once again. They moved towards the hallway as one. One body, one mind.


	16. Chapter 16

Mark awoke with a searing pain in his head, and a ringing in his ears. Adding to that, the pain of the serrated teeth of the red and black power connectors digging into his flesh, was still ever present. Mark would have found the pain and stress of this situation overwhelming, but it wasnt Mark that awoke. The beast inside of Mark had risen from its slumber, and it was angry. Mark opened his eyes slowly, waiting until the blurred images in front of him came into focus. The spiky haired playboy looking mobster was inside the room with him, talking frantically to the muscular mobster in the tank top. The spiky haired mobster was yelling about reinforcements coming soon, and gesturing with the pump action Mossberg tactical, in his arms angrily, while his burly comrade seemed to want him to go out and cover the hallway.

Mark kept his eyes low, and did his best to keep his teeth from clacking together with rage. In his position, tied to a wooden chair, with two armed guards in front of him… attacking was not an option. So he waited, like a coiled spring, his entire body tense, waiting for the first opportunity to strike, the first moment of weakness from his captors. He ground his teeth in frustration, as he tested the binds behind his back. The base and legs of the chair were wood, but the back was constructed out of several metal beams. Mark snarled his lips as his eyes glared behind his wavy, damp locks of brown hair, like a predator lurking in the brush. They couldnt keep him here in this chair forever.

A knock on the door caused the two Russian's to jerk in fear, before turning towards the door cautiously. "Dimitri! Open the door, quick!" A voice in perfect English said from behind the door. Dimitri lowered his shotgun from the door and glanced at his burly comrade, before cautiously pushing open the door. "Fuck, its me Dimitri!" The mobster said, pushing the barrel of the shotgun away from his body. Dimitri threw a hand up in exasperation. "Sorry, all the fucking explosions and screaming has got me jumpy!" The mobster known as Dimitri said.

The sound of the revving engine, and horrid screaming resonated from the back rooms of the club. "Yea… and whatever the fuck those noises are…" Dimitri mumbled fearfully. The mobster in the doorway winced, before turning back around towards the large object on the ground, he and another mobster had been carrying. Dimitri held open the door for them, as the two mobster hoisted up a long wooden crate, bringing it through the doorway.

Dimitri glanced around nervously, before ducking back into the interrogation room. Mark kept his head down, as he watched the mobster's work, opening the crate to reveal five AK-47 assault riffles. The two mobster's who had carried the crate quickly armed themselves, visibly more confident to face the beings creating the grotesque noises, with Soviet steel in their hands. The broad shouldered mobster quickly made his way towards the crate to pull a rifle out for himself, just as Dimitri walked over and poked around inside the container. "Wait, where's the extra clips?" Dimitri asked frantically searching the crate futilely. Mark couldnt help but growl in the back of his throat, at a reoccurring annoyance he had to deal with as a gun shop owner. Their called magazines, not clips.

The mobster with the surprisingly perfect English accent simply shrugged. "We left them in the van." He said. Dimitri slapped his forehead in exasperation. "What are we going to do if we run out of ammo? Wave our dicks at them? Go get the ammo, hurry! Their going to run out of victims soon and we're next!" Dimitri yelled, somehow managing to sound more frustrated then terrified. His words were highlighted by more of the demonic revving, accompanied the sounds of tortured screams. The mobsters didnt need to be asked twice.

Dimitri cautiously followed the two mobster's as they made their way out of the doorway. The spiky haired mobster let the door swing shut behind him as he went back to covering the hallway, ready to shoot anything that came from the main room. The last remaining mobster in the room stood a few feet in front of the doorway, holding his AK-47 up against his shoulder. His face was tense, his eyes half blinked in a nervous tick periodically, as the rifle in his hands trembled ever so slightly.

Mark slowly lifted his head. The silent rage had grown impatient and was beginning to overtake him. He felt a cool, dark blot begin to spread within his chest, enveloping his heart, as he embraced the waves of negative emotions beating from his chest. Soon the darkness began to fill him, until his entire body was possessed by the unnerving presence. Mark looked up at the bear mask staring back at him from its perch where Roman had left it, hanging on the door coat hanger, staring down at Mark with cold dark eyes. He felt a short shiver of fear run down his body. The mask was calling to him. He closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath, and let it out, letting go of all the fear and reservations that had been holding him in bondage all this time. It was time for Mark the human, to stop thinking, and for Mark the bear, to start killing.

Mark exploded to his feet, taking the chair bound to his arms with him. He could only make tiny, awkward steps, but they were tiny awkward steps, driven by rage. He screamed through grit teeth as the serrated clamps ripped free of his nipples, taking much of the sensitive pink flesh with it. His scream was not one of agony, the pain had only further fueled his deep seated anger. His cry was loud as it was terrifying, as he charged the mobster, barreling towards him with clumsy, belligerent fury. The mobster had enough time to turn around, before Mark's broad shoulder slammed into his chest and carried him back against the wall behind him. Mark felt the impact of his body weight slamming against the mobster chest, emptying the man's lungs with a violent crash. Mark staggered backwards, his feet moving in furious but clumsy steps. He hurled his body through the air at the stunned mobster. He twisted his body as his feet left the ground, swinging the chair tied to his back towards the mobster. Mark and the chair swung through the air before crashing against the burly man's chest and stomach, driving all of Mark's considerable body weight through the mobster's body. The mobster sank to the ground onto his back, managing to remain conscious, if not just barely.

Mark lifted himself up, and leaned his body foreword, raising the feet of the chair as high up into the air as he could, before jumping straight backwards, bringing the wooden feet down against the fallen mobster's stomach with devastating force. The mobster made a tortured groaning noise, as the two of the wooden chair feet crushed against his belly. Mark threw his body weight foreword, lifting the chair up off of the mobster before throwing himself back again, this time aiming for the mobster's head and neck. Only one of the chair's feet struck the mobster, but the placement couldnt have been more catastrophic. The foot of the chair sank into the mobster eye, driving it down through his skull, and sinking into the back of the man's head. The mobster's feet jerked up towards the air for a brief moment, before remaining very still.

Mark raised the chair again, the mobster's leg giving short, sudden spasm as the narrow wooden foot lifted from his skull. Mark took several more angry, short steps backwards, and once again flung himself, chair first towards the wall. The chair collapsed painfully against Mark's body, feeling as if someone had broken it over his back. The pain didnt bother Mark though, not when he was like this. His inner animal simply fed on the pain, it only made him stronger. His arms thrashed and wriggled wildly, as the chair simply fell apart around the rope, letting him pulls his hands free. He let out a throaty bellow of wild elation as he rose from the broken remnants of the chair, victorious and free!

…free to kill every single one of these cock sucking mother fuckers.

Dimitri's shotgun trembled in his hands as he stared at the door to the interrogation room. He had heard the sudden inhuman cry from that brainwashed psycho, following a sudden, savage series of violent crashes, following another loud, triumphant roar. Dimitri didnt want to open the door, he really didnt. He was positive that Pavel was dead, and that… thing behind the door was waiting for him. He hesitantly reached for the door latch, his hand trembling, as if it knew better then he did, and was trying to rebel. He gripped the handle of the shotgun firmly, trying to force himself to nut up. Roman was expecting him to pull the slack around here, now that Viktor was gone. Though… this was the guy who killed Viktor… and Viktor was the hardest man Dimitri had ever known. He glanced off to the side, where the rest of his "backup" had gone. It wouldnt be cowardly to wait for them to return, before he approached, right? He let his hand lower from the door latch. Before he could even take a step back, the door exploded foreword, swinging open with violent force. The door crashed against Dimitri's nose, flattening it back against his skull and filling his eyes with water, before his body slammed back against the wall behind him. He blinked his water filled eyes, as he tried to blink his blurry vision clear.

There before Dimitri, the psycho stood. Dimitri's watery eyes widened at the sight of it. The massive, obese man stepped from the doorway, his t shirt split open, his large bag of a belly hanging out, blood running from the wounds where the electrical connectors had been, but the thing Dimitri noticed most, even more then the two AK-47's leveled at his body in the psycho's large mitten like hands… was the bear mask, silently roaring down at him, as the man behind it burned with murderous intent. Dimitri's lips quivered with fear as they whispered a single word. "Please…" Dimitri's plea fell on deaf ears.

Mark snarled as he squeezed the triggers of the two assault rifles in his hands. The AK-47's violently shook and roared as they spat their unyielding salvos into the vain mobster's body, ripping through his nice blue shirt and shredding apart his fancy white jacket. It was then, as Mark's finger's were white knuckled around the handles and triggers of his guns, as the bullets tore the fallen man apart in front of him, that he understood what the dark violent animal inside of him was.

The cold, overwhelmingly oppressive dark entity clawing through his chest, possessing his hands to kill, filling his mind with violence… It was his pain. It was his self loathing, his anxiety, his fear, and most of all, it was his hatred of others, for making him feel inferior to them. For as long as Mark could remember, he bottled all of these feelings away, deep down inside himself. Because of his own weakness, he pushed it all down, as far as it would go, anything to avoid facing the pain. It had done nothing but concentrate the darkness growing inside of him, compacting it, squeezing it until there was no more room to put it. The beast within, was the manifestation of his pain, and the need to vent it into others.

The bullets from his gun, were propelled not by the explosion of gunpowder, but by the overwhelming and pent up anger and hatred behind them, pushing the bullets, chasing the bullets into the perforated body before him. With every bullet that ripped through the man slumped before him, he felt a tiny release, a small relief of the pain lifting from his body. He let the violent recoil of the rifles lift his arms up, as they spat their volleys of automatic fury. The automatic torrent of gunfire punched the spiky haired mobster's face through the back of his skull. The merciless volleys tore through the man's head, until it was indistinguishable from the rest of his bullet ravaged body. When the magazines of his rifles were finally empty, and the smoke from his barrels subsided, he found himself a moment of clarity. "Why did I ever resist this?" He thought.

Mark threw the empty assault rifles aside, before reaching down to snatch up the pump action Mossberg 500 from the dead mobster's hand. No sooner then he had, a hail of automatic fire ripped through the air towards him from the other side of the hallway. Mark simply took a step backwards, into the interrogation room, and calmly checked the chamber of the pump action. He watched as the bullets pelted the walls and floor in front of him, as the mobster's fired wildly from the curtained hallway at the end of the hall. Mark's brain buzzed with an explosion of neurons, as his savage killer instinct overrode and replaced the non essential, non lethal thoughts running through his body… and even still, he couldnt help but scoff at what he was seeing. The bullets were bouncing all around the hallway, a text book example of spray and pray. He had never seen such horrible trigger discipline. It was clear to Mark that these Russian thugs had no idea how to shoot… but Mark knew how to shoot, Mark really knew how to shoot.

Mark lumbered to the weapons crate as the mobster's reloaded. Last time Mark was in this state of mind, it was like a possession. The bear clawed its way out of Mark's chest and took his place, ripping apart his enemies with blood thirsty abandon. This time around, after being beaten, tortured and humiliated for hours, he eagerly embraced the bear. His mind had a supernatural amount of focus, the power and speed at which he moved and reacted was far above his regular abilities, but he could now direct the bear, nudge him in the direction it would go berserk in.

He reached his left arm inside the crate and hoisted the last of the AK style rifles from it, tucking the stock tightly against his shoulder. Mark leaned half of his body through the doorway, as he lowered the shotgun in his right hand, firing a blast of buckshot down the hall. The mobster's jumped back through the curtains, one of them yelping in pain, as stray pellet from the shotgun blast bounced off of the concrete floor at his feet, and into his calf. Mark's strides were long and fearless, as he lumbered through the doorway and down the hall, tossing the shotgun up into the air, catching it by the action and chambering another round, before tossing it back into his grasp. He brought his shotgun back down and fired a second blast, tearing off parts of the wall and sending drywall fragments through the air towards the henchmen hunkering on the other side of it.

As he chambered the shotguns pump action with one hand, the mobsters took the time to dart from around the corner, hoping to catch him in between shotgun volleys. Mark however, held the AK-47 tightly against his shoulder, already aimed where they would emerge. Mark's furious fingers squeezed against the trigger of the rifle, firing a wild ten round burst towards the gunmen, his own trigger discipline suffering from the adrenaline and rage pumping through his body, ignoring his military training to fire in controlled bursts. Even though he had embraced his violent, inner animal, he still did not have complete control over it, and the beast was favoring violence of action, shock and awe, over precision. One of the bullets struck a gunman through his shoulder as he poked from behind cover, spewing blood over the curtains and walls as it nicked an artery. The gunmen slammed into one another as they darted back behind the archway. Mark heard the gunmen turn and run before he was even five feet from the archway, unwilling to stay and face the bear man's wraths. Mark never slowed his lumbering strides, until he strolled into the room before the exit and glanced down at a cardboard box filled with loaded magazines, sitting in the doorway to the club. The mobsters must have dropped it there when they heard the gunfire. Mark quickly checked the doorway, before setting down the shotgun, keeping the AK-47 leveled in case they reemerged. His hands moved with practiced speed, as he grabbed a spare magazine from the box, and used it to knock the magazine release lever, ejecting the half empty one onto the floor, before replacing it with the fresh magazine in his hand.

He rose to his feet, lifting back up the shotgun in his right arm as he stormed through the front door, to catch back up with his fleeing pray. Mark followed the droplets of blood, that lead to a discarded AK-47 at the corner to the side of the club. As he followed the blood and turned the corner, he found him self staring down the barrel of what appeared to be an RPK light machine gun, pointed out of the side of a van. The large weapon, which essentially looked like just an elongated AK-47 with a long banana shaped magazine, was being operated by two men, within a black van, parked less then fifty feet away in the small parking space near the club. One of his fleeing prey had made it half way to the van, as the RPK operator brought the light machine gun to bare. Mark, the human, would have been impressed at seeing such a beautiful piece of military hardware, here in the civilian world, but the beast within couldnt care less. He squeeze the trigger of his assault rifle, while swinging down the barrel of the shotgun, firing a blast of buckshot to follow the stream of rifle rounds he pumped into the van door opening.

The man operating the RPK closed his eyes tightly as the bullets tore through the thin metal of the van, and the buckshot bounced and ricocheted around him. The mobster fired a single short burst, maybe three rounds at most, before falling to the merciless volley screaming from Mark's weapon's. The fleeing mobster managed to whirl himself around and take aim with his rifle, before a bullet tore its way through the Russian's forehead, splattering the back of his head against the van's side window. Mark spotted the mobster he tagged in the shoulder and leg, limping towards the back of the building attempting to flee into the alley. Mark swung the shotgun to the side before firing a blast of buckshot after him. The cloud of angry pellets tore through the back of the mobster's white blazer, who threw his arms up dramatically, as if he was trying to claw at the air to keep himself from falling, before landing face first onto the ground. Mark swung the shotgun back around to add its buckshot, to the stream of automatic fire pouring from his rifle, into the van. Bullets and buckshot riddled the van as he swung the rifle side to side, punching holes through the van as the only remaining mobster, he knew of was still somewhere inside. Mark had lost track of him, as he rapidly switched targets, the last he saw, he was crawling towards the back of the van, keeping himself low to avoid the hail of bullets and ricochets bouncing all around him. Mark kept firing, where he felt the mobster might be, as he maintained his driven pace towards the van.

When he finally reached the van, the AK rifle's magazine had been emptied. He threw the empty rifle aside, letting it skitter against the parking lot cement as he stepped into the van with aggressive purpose. Seeing his target cowering against the floor of the van, bleeding from debris and glancing injuries, he brought the barrel of the shotgun down towards the back of the man's head. He pulled the trigger. The gun made a simple click in response. The mobster's entire body jerked and winced, only to let gasp of relief when he realized he was still alive. He would quickly learn to regret that the gun was empty.

Mark threw the gun aside in frustration and rage, growling in the back of his throat as his big hands wrapped themselves around the mobster's blood stained jacket. He pulled the mobster from the van, jerking him around as if he was a rag doll, and hurling him from the vehicle, and onto the hard pavement. The mobster groaned in pain, and scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to run, but Mark's powerful, rage driven hands wrapped themselves around the man, dragging him towards the wall on left side of the club and throwing him against it, with all of his force. The mobster's smashed face first into the wall, cracking the flesh of his scalp. Warm blood gushed from his wound, smearing blood over the wall, as the mobster remained leaning against it, to dazed and injured to put up any resistance. Mark's strong hands wrapped themselves around the man's arm and swung him from the wall, swinging him in a full circle before throwing him back into the wall with devastating force. The mobster's back slammed into the wall of the club, letting out a gurgling groan, as he collapsed onto his ass. The mobster's vision was spinning, distant and confused. The mobster probably didnt even know where he was anymore. Mark took two steps back, before thrusting his big combat boot foreword. Behind his heel, was all of his strength, all of his fat man tonnage, but most important of all… he put all of his deep seated rage behind that kick. The heel of Mark's black combat boot crumpled the man's face into the back of his head like a crumpled blood filled soda can, splashing a vivid red stain over the wall behind it.

Mark panted, his lungs burning as he filled them with oxygen from the humid night air. His heart was beating a mile a minute, to the point where it felt like it would burst from the pressure. Mark closed his eyes as he gasped and wheezed, doing his best to regain his composure, as his invincible bear persona began to fade from his mind. As quickly as it took hold of him, when the last mobster fell under his boot, Mark's inner animal was gone. Mark looked at what he had done. He made a face, the crushed skull and warped face of the mobster did not paint a pretty picture, but he had seen so much in the last few weeks. It would take a lot more to disturb Mark from here on out.


	17. Chapter 17

Alex grinned sadistically under her mask, as she slowly followed the twin streaks of blood through the hallway. The trail lead Alex, and her faithful shadow guard, back to the main floor of the strip club, where the crippled mobster crawled, face first, across the dance floor. The twins watched in amusement as the mobster dragged his body across the strip club floor, smearing two red stains from his blown out knees. Alex slowly walked around the bloody trails, matching the pitiful speed of the crawling mobster. She revved the saw, letting the crawling man know she was there. The mobster gritted his teeth and squinted his eyes, in focus and frustration. He continued to reach up with his elbows and forearms, dragging the rest of his body foreword using his arms, moving only a few inches at a time. He seemed to be trying to shut out the rest of the world, motivated by the fantasy he could still crawl somewhere to safety. Alex almost felt a bit of admiration for the man's mindless optimism, as she watched him from behind. Almost.

Alex stomped her steel toed boot down hard on the back of the mobster's blown out knee, grinding her heel painfully on the bullet wound, pressing it down against the hard floor below. The mobster squealed in pain, his fingers clawing at the ground out of desperation. Alex revved the saw gratuitously, before reaching the hungry spinning teeth down against the back of the mobster's upper thighs. The mobster screamed through gritted teeth, as the saw blades whirled through the flesh of his thigh, shearing through the bone, as the ravenous saw blades passed through his legs, severing them one after the other. The mobster never stopped trying to crawl away. Driven by adrenaline, even as his mind was swallowed by shock, he pulled his mutilated body from his severed limbs. The mobster crawled nearly a foot, before he finally rested his head down on the concrete floor, thankfully embracing the the loss of consciousness and the awaiting oblivion.

Alex was on cloud nine as she stepped away from the legless mobster. She watched as the severed arteries pumped the precious lifeblood from what was left of the mobsters legs, pooling a dark red puddle between the crawling remnant of a man, and where his appendages remained. Ash's arm reached foreword and gripped her shoulder pad, halting her dead in her tracks as her foot stepped in the red pool running against her feet. He stepped to her side, flanking her, and pointed with his pistol at the hallway that lead to an unexplored area of the club, and to the open curtains where they had first emerged. Alex quickly scanned the area in front of her with her eyes and understood what her brother was telling her, there was another player in the game.

Spatters of blood stained the curtain, bunched to the far side of the archway, and large chunks of the wall were damaged and littered with holes. That wasnt there earlier, this shootout was recent. Alex remembered hearing gunshots and yelling while she and her dear brother picked apart the mobster's cowering in the back rooms. She heard the commotion, but was to busy distracting herself, or more accurately, losing herself, in all the carnage and wondrous screaming. Thankfully, her dear brother was always the level headed one, and had remembered to point it out, to his blood thirsty sister.

They crept towards the hallway, taking turns looking left and right, so as to always have a pair of eyes in one direction at a time. Alex smiled to herself, as she turned towards the bullet ravaged body slumped against the wall. She looked back to her brother as he turned away from the blood spattered wall and curtain and met her gaze. She grinned with her eyes at him, and her brother nodded. They both could feel the dark belligerent presence in this room, the familiar savagery and pent up rage left like a calling card on the bloody body slumped against the wall. They both knew, that Mark had gotten himself in on the fun.

Alex smirked down at the pile of meat and holes, that had once been a human being, as Ash checked the doorway on their right. Ash narrowed his eyes under his mask as he scanned what looked to be, a torture chamber of some sorts. He touched her shoulder pad and pointed into the room. Alex turned from the perforated body and glanced into the room. Under a pile of wood bits and metal rods, a mobster, with a big puncture wound for an eye laid, mouth open, against the wall. Alex shot her brother a playful look, before pressing on, stepping around the sprawled out legs of the bullet riddled corpse in the hallway.

Alex's heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she looked at the sign above the door at the other end of the hallway. Emergency Exit. Though they still had one more room to check, any remaining victims who managed to escape Mark's pent up wrath, had most likely slipped out the fire escape. She knew she should probably just be happy Mark had finally come out of his fat shell, but couldnt help feeling disappointed that the rampage was coming to an end.

Alex took a spot to the right of the door, to the last unexplored room of the club. Ash stepped towards the door and reached out with his free hand and twisted the door latch. The latch rattled in Ash's hand, refusing to open. Alex's eyes widened as hope blossomed in her chest. If somebody locked the door, there was a good chance that person was still inside!

Ash stepped out of the way, letting Alex take over. She revved the saw twice fast, before holding down on the throttle, as she brought the whirring saw blades up against the frame, sawing into it as she pushed the saw through the top of the door. After a few moments of resistance from the door frame, the whirring saw chewed down through the door, as Alex brought the saw straight down. She carved a straight line down through the door, cutting the door latch from the rest of the door, getting down into a kneeling position to saw all the way down into the ground. Sparks flew from the saw as the saw teeth dug into the concrete floor, before Alex lifted the saw up and pulled it from the door.

Alex gave the door a kick. The door swung open easily, the thin strip of what was left of the door, and the door latch, remaining firmly locked the door frame. Alex burst through open door, revving the saw and stepping to the side, letting her brother get a clear view of the room as he filed in after her. It was empty. Alex looked around in frustration, as her finger eased up from the throttle. The room was a simple office, with a large window behind a large walnut colored desk that faced them. Alex took a step foreword, swiveling her head slowly from side to side. The room was sparsely decorated, with the notable exception of a wall rack, with three Japanese samurai swords displayed horizontally. Alex took another step towards the large wooden desk.

Roman stood silently behind the carved open door. If he had any doubt to the what the horrible revving sounds were, there was none now. He imagined a lesser man would have soiled himself, as the saw blades whirled their way through the door, before the said door flew back into his face, but Roman was no lesser man. He had refused to let his primal fears overwhelm him when he chose to stay behind. He initially thought of running, to slip into the night and let the blood drunk lunatics sate themselves on his men. It was the practical, intelligent thing to do… but Roman knew in his heart, he couldnt bring himself to do it. Deep down, he knew he had been running from this very moment for far to long, that the only reason he was alive, while so many in the organization fell to men like Jacket, and the rest of these maniacs… was blind, chaotic luck. Roman survived, not because he evaded them, but because they never massacred a building while he was still in it, because Roman simply wasnt there when the programmed killers emerged through the door. It was a heavy weight, a fear that he had pushed back deep into his mind, only to feel it rise to the surface, as once again 50 Blessings came back into the equation. There was no more running for Roman. Rationality be damned, he would lay in wait for 50 Blessings, and confront the demons of his past. Live or die, conquer or be conquered, he did not want to live in a world which he could not control, where chaotic maniacs could simply activate and disrupt carefully laid plans and organizations of their mental superiors. If he had to die, he would go out here and now, on his terms. Victory or death.

When the door had swung towards him, he stopped it with his shoe before reaching his hand out to hold still, keeping the door from simply bouncing back, and leaving him exposed. Roman slipped his hand back behind the door and out of view, as the maniac with the saw burst through the doorway. The explosive roar of the saw, shook Roman's very being, and sent involuntary trembles down his legs. Roman strained his ears, and kept his breathing to a minimum, as a pair of lighter, meticulous footsteps filled his ears, stepping through the doorway with speed and grace. The heavier steps of the saw wielding psycho, paced around, as it was, undoubtedly, searching for Roman.

Roman slowly moved his head from behind the three fourths of a door he hid behind. His would-be executioner was even more twisted then he had imagined. The masked psycho wore a white bird mask over his head, that stood out against the painted green athletic pads and the neon green shirt under that. The maniac carried a blood stained chainsaw, just as Roman feared. The saw wielding psycho was spattered head to toe with blood, its footsteps leaving red prints on the floor. The chainsaw wielder finished examining the office, and took a cautious step towards Roman's desk. Roman's accelerated heartbeat and the low sputtering of the saw was the only noises his ears could pick up, but it was the soft footsteps, he didnt hear, that worried him. Roman didnt poke his head any further from the doorway, to avoid detection, but with his limited glimpse of the office, he couldnt see the second agent, who may have been right on the other side of the door for all he knew. Roman's skin crawled. The lack of control he had over the situation was unbearable.

Roman gripped the Walther pistol that he held up near his head. Even though he could see the chainsaw wielder from his hiding spot, the door shielded his arm as well as his body from the masked psychos. He would have to either swing the door open before bringing the gun up, or perhaps… he could switch hands. He wasnt as good of a shot with his left as he was his right, making the idea not a perfect plan, but just the idea of a plan at all, gave Roman a bit of comfort. Roman slowly moved the gun in front of his face as he gripped it in his free hand. He felt his heart beat quicken, as he managed to switch the gun into his left hand, without making a sound. Roman could bring the pistol down and around the door, and shoot the chain saw wielder now, but he would have to move quickly, and react even quicker, to locate and get a bead on the second 50 Blessing member. Roman didnt like to do things blind and without time to prepare, but he had been left no choice. He steeled himself, his brow twisting into a cruel scowl as his body tensed with determination. It was now or never, all or nothing.

As Roman lifted the gun in his left hand, and aimed his shot for the back of the psycho's white bird masked head, the door in front of him slammed back against him, knocking the wind from his lungs, and causing his shot to strike the desk in front of his intended target. Roman quickly reoriented himself, just as bullet punched through the door, missing his head by mere centimeters. Roman slammed his body against the door, swinging it open and knocking it back against the gun wielding agent. Roman's eyes caught a glimpse of the agent's pistol scatter across the ground, before catching his first glimpse of the silent agent in front of him. The masked psycho was a near identical copy of his chainsaw wielding partner, wearing the same clothing, mask and athletic pads to the letter. The only distinctions, was the dark purple number 2, drawn over the masks forehead, and for some reason his shoulder pads were painted bright orange and not green. At the moment though, Roman didnt care why the two bird masked psychos were dressed this way, he could think about such matters at his leisure, once they both were dead.

The masked agent recovered in his stance as Roman tried to level his pistol. Roman felt the agent's fingers clamp over his wrist, jerking the barrel away from getting a clear shot, before throwing his hand out, and curling his fingers around Roman's throat. Roman lifted his right hand up and under the masked man's arm, breaking the man's strangle hold with a simple judo technique, twisting his arm around the agents, trapping the man's arm against his armpit, and twisting it in his grip. Roman wrenched the man's elbow, using the pain to distract him as he pulled his gun arm free, and shoved the barrel of his Walther under the mask of the agent, up against his throat. Roman would have pulled the trigger right then and there, if it wasnt for the thunderous roar of the chainsaw in his left ear.

Roman pivoted his feet and twisted himself, and the masked agent around towards the chainsaw wielder, using the pain to control his hostage, hoping to somehow slow down the chainsaw wielding psycho, by adding an extra barrier between him and the spinning fangs of the saw. Roman's eyes squinted, and his lips snarled against his gritted teeth, as he saw the blurring blades of the saw, swing towards his neck and cheek. Roman knew his gamble was a mistake, that he was soon to have his head carved from his body in a spectacularly bloody way. Of course the 50 Blessing agent wouldn't care if he had to tear through his partner to get to him. It was foolish, even in the wild frenzy of the moment, to think otherwise. As the spinning blades came dangerously close to carving through him and his hostages necks, he tried to take some small comfort, that he would take one of them with him.

A half of a second passed, and the spinning blades stopped spinning, and the roaring engine stopped roaring. The killing strike never came, the chainsaw wielder only hovered the saw near his neck, the maniac's wild eyes burrowing into his. Roman was surprised, taken back, both that he was still alive, and from the wild, confusing passions seeping from the cool blue eyes of the psycho, from behind his blood stained mask. Roman regained his composure, hardening himself in his usual discipline, as a familiar stoic and controlled calm came over his face. He glared back at the psycho with cruel, haughty eyes. The masked psycho didnt respond, it simply stood there, as if unsure what to do. Roman took the time to study his new opponent. Roman noticed the masked killer had a dark purple number 1 drawn on its forehead, as he studied him. Behind the blood splattered mask, the psycho's eyes were a well of emotions, opened wide and wild, trembling and watering. Roman felt a conflict behind those eyes, perhaps even fear.

Roman tested his theory by pushing psycho number two's head back, by lifting the barrel under his chin and throat. Psycho number one's eyes darted towards its partner, a tremble running through the his entire body. Roman felt a powerful blossom of satisfaction from within himself. He had leverage. Roman's lips pursed as he scowled at psycho number one before speaking. "Lift the saw, or I will kill him." Roman said, his words carrying a doom filled promise that the psycho knew, was no idle threat. Psycho number one's eyes twisted and narrowed, the twitchy emotional gaze now more wrath and hatred then anything resembling hesitation. The saw didnt retreat, but hovered inches from Roman and his hostages necks, the only movement coming from the gentle swaying as the chainsaw wielder compensated for the weight of the gas powered machine.

Roman wasnt impressed by the psycho's defiance. He could have tried moving the saw, to angle it away from Roman's hostage, but had remained motionless. There was no more doubt in Roman's mind, the psycho's partner was anything but expendable. Roman kept his stern gaze on the psycho's eyes, battering back the wild looks of aggression with his cold authority. "You may kill me, before I kill you both… but either way, he dies." Roman said, more confident and matter of fact then before. The saw swayed gently at his words, but otherwise remained still. Roman gave the psycho number one a look of annoyance before speaking. "I will count to three." Roman said.

To Roman's surprise, before he could even begin the count, psycho number one spoke out. "Wait." She said. Roman blinked, he didnt expect a woman's voice to come from the blood stained abomination in front of him. Psycho number two twitched at the sound of her voice, his calm, detached eyes now growing volatile. "Don't listen to him, kill him!" The masked man snarled. Roman's body tensed, as he felt his hostage begin to shudder violently, not from fear but from something else. These two were unstable, mentally erratic and unnerving to Roman. Trying to analyze and predict what they would do was once again, filling Roman with dread. Roman pushed the feelings out of his mind, like the wretched poison it was. "One." Roman said in a firm voice, beginning the count. Roman had no intentions of counting to three. He would count to two, to see what the approaching decision would do to the chainsaw wielder, but after that, he would blow the lady psycho away, before dealing with her partner.

The saw began to shudder and move away from Roman and his hostage's necks, only to jerk right back into place. Roman could see an internal conflict, a war going on behind the chainsaw wielders eyes, it was obvious even through her very movement, as her body trembled and shook. Roman steeled himself, and pursed his lips, before speaking his final count. "Two." He said, his voice carrying a grim weight behind them. As he planned the execution of his next few movements, he saw the bladed chain raise up and away from him. "Stop." The lady psycho said. Roman would have simply aimed around the hostage and put a bullet in her right then and there, if it wasnt for the tone in the woman's voice. Roman was taken back, by the level of sadness and fear behind that simple word, that single syllable. This wasnt just a partner, there was a deep love between them, even as the hostage quaked in frustration, Roman could see it clear as day. Why 50 Blessing would allow such a glaring defect in the programming, or leave such an exploitable weakness, if they knew each other before hand, Roman had no earthly idea.

Alex felt her mind splinter in half. She grit her teeth, as moisture welled in her eyes, as the hair on her scalp bristled and stood on end. She couldnt do it. She couldnt simply carve around her brother, even if she took steps to minimize the chance the mobster would fire, the risk was far to great. If she were to lose Ash, she would lose everything. Everything she did for herself, she really did for Ash. Ever since they were children living in poverty, she would create the fantasies and entertainment for her and her dear brother to escape into. Even as kids, she would lead and create, and he would follow and support. To this day, they were still basking in the fantasy worlds Alex created, only instead of rat poison and knives used on neighborhood pets, it was chainsaws and guns used on Russian mobsters. She would do anything to keep her brother with her, even if it meant dropping the fantasy and risking capture.

Ash reacted in a way Alex should have predicted. With his arm painfully trapped under the mob bosses control, and a gun against his throat, he threw his body foreword with wild abandon, clawing at the gun in Roman's hand without a shred of self preservation. Ash wasn't Alex's drone, she never brain washed him. He was an eager participant. Even when he was the golden child in their parents eyes, the first and only of their siblings to go to any tech school or college, Ash still depended on the phone calls from his dear sister. Alex spent countless hours chatting with her brother while he was in college. In many ways, it was like he never left Alex, but remained plugged into their secret world. When Ash was drafted to serve in the Hawaiian conflict, Alex dropped everything and signed up alongside him. Even back in the war, she was the commander, and he the defender, and right now his commander was being forced to into a position of weakness, to drop the fantasy to save his life. Ash couldnt allow that. He would rather eat a bullet from the mob bosses gun, then see his number one degraded that way.

Alex cried out in fear and frustration, as her brother wrestled for Roman's gun. She revved the saw in the air out in front of her, hoping to scare the mob boss and weaken his focus, but it wasnt enough. Roman pulled the gun free as Alex approached, saw held high, her eyes burning with desperate fury. Roman slammed the fist he held the gun in, down against Ash's forehead. The metal handle of the gun pounding against Ash's forehead, and drove the senses from his body, dropping the young man motionless to the ground. Alex's face twisted into a look of pure fury, as she brought the revving saw down upon the mob boss. Roman's eyes were wide, as he threw the pistol out towards the saw, the only thing he could do to avoid taking the whirling bits against his neck. Even if Roman had the time to aim and shoot Alex, the saw was coming down regardless. Roman moved with lightning speed, turning the gun sideways to catch the ravenously spinning teeth against the metal barrel and trigger guard of his gun. Sparks flew into the air as the teeth dug against the metal, digging into the trigger guard and tearing it from Roman's grasp.

The mob boss jumped backwards, throwing his hands out to the sides to avoid coming in contact with the saw, as it finished its swing towards the ground. Alex glared at Roman, holding her heavy saw low against her thighs, the blade out to the side. Roman took a step back, his eyes wide with anxiety, but still a look of defiance was smeared across his lips. Alex would cure him of that soon enough. Alex turned the saw towards Roman, squeezing the throttle again and again, revving the engine until its roaring voice filled the room. Roman staggered backwards, his lips snarling, showing teeth, as his eyes darted around in desperation. Alex took one slow step foreword, and then another. She moved deliberately as she stalked towards her victim. She let her finger drop from the throttle, and slowly lowered the saw to her waist. She squeezed the throttle again, making a half second roar into the air, but otherwise let her slow footsteps, and the low sputter of the engine build the tension between her and her next victim. She was going to savor this moment as much as she could.

Roman couldnt retreat any further. One more step, and his back would be against the wall. He felt the temptation to panic spread inside of him, like an infection of the soul, but he steeled himself. Roman wasnt without a plan, he didnt get to where he was in life without thinking two steps ahead… but still, there was a large margin for error, and error in this case, would mean a most painful death. Every move Roman made from here on out would have to be perfect. Such a requirement would no doubt be an impossibility to most people, but not to Roman. Roman had spent his entire life in pursuit of perfection, and he wasnt about to give up now.

Hanging on the wall, behind the chainsaw wielding psycho, was a sword rack with three of his moderately impressive katanas, so close and yet so far away. Still, Roman couldnt allow himself to be distracted, not now of all times. Hesitation would weigh him down, fear was certain death. Roman took a deep breath, and waited, for the chainsaw wielding bitch to finally make her attack. She had been standing in front of him for what felt like minutes, though Roman knew it couldnt have been more than a few seconds. Her eyes were unblinking, hungry, longing, her body was rigid, barely moving, save for the occasional jerk of the saw, as she squeezed the throttle. Roman pursed his lips and flared his nostrils back at her in disgust. He wasnt sure what irritated him more, that she was being so blatantly obvious that she was trying to intimidate him, or that it was working.

Roman's body braced for action, as the look in the lady psycho's eyes began to change. The intense longing had become a fiery hunger, as her eyes twitched behind her blood stained mask. Roman felt a small moment of clarity before the strike, as if he felt the attack from the psycho woman's eyes, the moment before the attack would come. The chain around the saw spun to life, as the engine roared in anger. The psycho swept the tip of the saw in a wide sweeping motion. The tip of the saw arced its way towards Roman's belly, but he was ready for it. He dove foreword, as the tip of the saw carved a savage line through the wall of his office, where Roman once stood. Roman landed on his shoulders and rolled to his feet, as he heard the horrible grinding sound of the saw dragging itself across the hard floor at his heels. He felt the rustle of air blow through his pant legs, against the back of his calf, as the whirling blades came dangerously close. Roman didnt feel any pain in his legs as they began to run. He knew this was either a good sign, or a very bad one. Regardless, she was directly behind him, chasing him, but Roman couldnt think about that now. Now, he could only run.

Roman sprinted straight ahead, the muscles in his legs supernaturally fueled by the legendary levels of adrenaline pumping through his body. He didnt think about the chain saw wielder behind him, or how she had followed him faster then he anticipated, and he especially didnt think about how he would have just enough time to reach the wall rack before she would be upon him. Roman didnt think on any of these things, he simply knew them, felt them, as he crashed head long into the rack of katana's, not even bothering to stop, for the moment he slowed down, he would feel the ravenous bite of the saw.

Alex was moderately impressed the mob boss could move so nimbly. She fully expected to be twisting the mans guts around her saw at this point, but instead he had managed to pull some acrobatics stunt from his ass. As the mob boss somersaulted to his feet, Alex had just missed a perfect chance to sever his tendons and watch him flop on the ground like a fish. Alex grimaced in disappointment as she quickly moved towards the exit, reaching out with her saw to carve out Roman's legs when he ran for his life… but again, the mobster surprised her. Roman didnt run for he door, but ran face first into the sword rack against the wall. Alex blinked, grinning in amusement as she curiously approached. She watched Roman juggle the swords that flew from the rack, finally gripping one tightly in his hands and wildly pulling the blade from its decorative scabbard. The mob boss whirled around, holding the sword outwards with a wild look in his eyes. The mob boss probably predicted Alex would have chased him against the wall, and buried her saw in his back, and he might have been right, if Alex wasnt more concerned about the mob boss escaping, then arming himself. Now that Roman had armed himself, and with a Japanese antique sword of all things… things were about to get more interesting.

A large, twisted grin spread itself over Alex's face. She revved the saw into the air as she gracefully moved it up and to the right, before dipping the swirling point down and around to the left, and bringing it back up again in a dramatic figure eight. The mob boss tried to ignore her ritualistic movements as the mobster readied himself, through what looked to be meditative breaths and eastern mind games. Her grin only got wider as the mob boss chambered the sword back in what looked to be a trained stance. This was going to be even more fun then Alex could have imagined.

Alex raised the saw as she charged, tightly squeezing down the throttle with blood drunk abandon. Roman braced himself, lowering his arms so he held his sword down and away from him. Alex didnt care how the mob boss held himself, he would die screaming all the same. Alex reached foreword with the saw, bringing the twenty inches of spinning metallic teeth down on the mob boss. Roman swiftly stepped to the side, avoiding the swirling, roaring weapon and swinging at an upward strike aimed for Alex's forearm. Alex quickly jerked her saw to the left, blocking the antique weapon with the thick plastic chainsaw housing. The Japanese antique weapon slammed against the chainsaw housing, cracking the plastic case around the heavy saw. Alex fumed with rage as she swept the blurring blades of the saw back towards Roman who nimbly back stepped around the blow. Alex pressed the attack, driven by anger that the mob boss had the audacity to damage her beauty. Roman quickly retreated from Alex's wild and furious attacks, nearly tripping when his heel lifted back the shag rug in front of his large desk. Alex swung the roaring spinning blades down at Roman in a savage diagonal strike. Roman swung the blade of his antique weapon against the whirling saw, attempting to batter the strike away from him. Sparks flew and both of the weapons jumped back as they made contact with one another, sending the mob boss staggering back against the desk.

Roman's upper thigh bashed against the wood lip of his desk, causing the mob boss to lose his balance, collapsing backwards, his rump partly sitting on the desks surface. Alex, having expected the jerk of the weapon, when the spinning saw made contact with the metal sword, recovered immediately, bringing the saw back down on Roman in his compromised position with sadistic glee. Roman again, raised his sword and blocked the whirling saw teeth with his weapon, his scowl of a face becoming more of a grimace. Sparks flew and the horrid noise of the two weapons skipping off of one another rang through the office. Roman grit his teeth as he was pushed back even further from his feet and onto the desk. Alex pushed foreword with the saw, grinding the whirling blades against the priceless Japanese artifact, as she lowered the tip of the saw down towards the mob bosses face. Roman kept his arms fully extended, pushing up against the bouncing, skipping saw, as blurring blades came dangerously close to his right eye. Sparks showered down upon the struggling mob bosses face and body as the weapons remained in close contact, the spinning metallic teeth of the saw wearing an indent into the blade of the antique sword.

Roman snarled his teeth in frustration as he was pushed back lower against the desk. If Roman was able to feel minor pains, he would find the jar of pens jabbing into the small of his back extremely uncomfortable, but in his current state of mind, with his disciplined will focusing every aspect of his mind to fight, to survive, he barely even noticed. He could barely open his eyes, as the shower of sparks, and tiny pieces of metal from his katana and the chainsaw's bladed chain, were spraying against his face. He lifted his right leg from the floor, and carefully aimed a thrusting kick back against the housing of the chainsaw. The maniac staggered backwards as his blow thrust the heavy weapon back against her. Roman took the time to lift himself fully to his feet, sliding foreword on the desk. He waited as the maniac stood, poised for another attack… but something was different. Roman continued to wait, narrowing his eyes as he studied the rigid, statue like stance the, until now, unrelenting psycho was in. Thats when Roman noticed it. The faint, purring sputter of the chainsaw's gas powered engine had grown silent. Roman's eyes flashed with realization. Now was the time to attack.

Alex was like a deer in the headlights. She wasnt sure how it had happened, but somehow the big kick to the chainsaw housing, triggered the chain brake's kill switch to the motor. Alex had taken drastic steps to avoid this from happening, by having her brother remove the chain break almost entirely. While the hand break is an important safety feature, a handle shaped shield in front of the users hand in case the chain breaks and flies back, it was far more dangerous to be in the situation Alex found herself in now. Without restarting the motor, the toothy chain of her beauty would not spin. What was worse, was her beauty had been growing very hot in her hands, which meant she wouldnt want to start. Alex's blood went cold as she saw the sparkle of discovery behind the mob bosses eyes. She quickly threw her hand to the starter cord, but it was to late. Roman flew from the desk towards her, swinging his sword in a downward strike, forcing Alex to drop the handle of the starter cord and bring the saw up to block the blow on the chainsaw housing. Alex winced as the sound of the plastic further cracking filled her ears.

Roman's foot thrust foreword, battering the wind from Alex's lung as the toe of his shiny leather shoe smashed against her stomach. She coughed as she staggered back, trying desperately to find the starter cord with her hands, as her eyes filled with water. Roman interrupted her attempts again, slicing the antique sword down against the chainsaw bar, and the bladed chain. Alex bared her teeth under her blood stained mask, as she wrestled the mob bosses blade away from her head. Roman turned the sword to the side and stepped foreword, sliding the blade across Alex's weapon and bringing the point of the curved blade down towards her throat. Alex felt like screaming with rage, he was pushing foreword, bullying her with his strength and speed, getting in close because he did not fear her now that her weapon had grown silent.

Alex thrust her arms foreword, bringing the heavy plastic chainsaw housing crashing against the mob bosses cheek and teeth, the weight of the weapon snapping Roman's head back. The mob boss reeled backwards, his eyes wide with delicious surprise. Alex saw an opening in the mob bosses stance, and continued to push the attack. She stepped foreword and swung the heavy weapon in her arms with all of her might. The large orange housing of her beauty, with the full weight of the rest of the heavy cutting machine, slammed into Roman's stomach, battering his breath as well as a mouthful of spittle and blood from his split lips. Alex stepped back from the stunned mobster, swinging her heavy weapon back, before lifting it straight up, swinging the heavy plastic housing upwards in a vicious diagonal arc, bringing it hard under Roman's chin, knocking the man near senseless as he staggered back and fell. Roman's back slammed against the desk behind him, propping the dazed mob boss in a sitting position. Roman's eyes were wide, his jaw dropped. He was more then simply stunned, he was shocked Alex had been able to knock him on his ass so stupendously.

Alex took the time to try and start the motor of her chainsaw. She gripped the plastic handle of the pull string and pulled it wildly. As she predicted, her overheated motor refused to give as much as a cough. Roman's wide bewildered eyes stared up at Alex as she struggled to start the saw. The tip of Roman's antique sword slammed down into the shag carpet, as he used it as a crutch to slowly lift himself up. Alex braced for another attack, as she continued to yank on the starter cord, but the attack didnt come. Roman was slowly reaching to the buttons of his black vest, undoing them with angry, jerky movements, as his face bristled with pent up frustration and rage. Alex narrowed her eyes, she was sure he would try to attack her again, before she could bring the beast back to life, but instead he was undressing. She watched as the anger and frustration slowly retreated behind his disciplined mask of a face, as his fingers began to move calmly over the last button, gently undoing it opposed to the first two he nearly ripped off altogether. The motor of her saw coughed and gurgled, before the final pull caused it to roar to life. Reinvigorated by the return of her saw, Alex revved the engine rapidly, turning and swinging the swirling blades through the air as if driven by blood lust. She watched Roman out of the corner of her eyes, as she staggered before him, dramatically sweeping the tip of the saw through the air. Roman froze for a moment, seeing the saw roar to life, before his hand moved from the collar button of his shirt, to the handle of the sword leaning against the desk. Alex waited with baited breath, waiting to see what the mob boss would do next. When Roman saw Alex would not attack him right away, he reached up and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. A strange look of respect blossomed behind Roman's eyes, as if her unwillingness to rush him wildly as soon as she got the power back to her saw, was a sign of good manners. Alex eased her finger away from the throttle, letting the heavy weapon rest against her legs and groin, unable to curve her curiosity to watch the mob boss preform his undressing ceremony, or whatever he was doing. After all, what harm was there in relishing this sensual moment, for just a little while longer?

She looked over to the man she was locked in mortal combat with. To Alex's surprise he had grown so calm, that he left his katana leaning against the desk, as he removed the vest from his body, tossing it aside. Alex revved the saw twice more into the air, before letting the heavy monster of a weapon rest down against her legs. Roman reached back for his sword, his eyes boring into hers with a look of reserved determination at the sight of the weapon's jagged metal teeth spinning to life once more, but when Alex relaxed back it against her body, he went back to his ritualistic movements of undoing the buttons of his shirt. Alex continued to watch, but quickly grew bored by the slow methodical movements the mob boss made. She entertained herself by turning saw to the side and revving the motor, making a dramatic sweep from left to right, before lifting it up against her body. She would occasionally jerk the swirling teeth towards the unnaturally calm kingpin, letting the engine roar, just to see if she could break his concentration. The mob boss flinched, but otherwise his fingers continued to work, ignoring her antics. Finally, the mob boss finished unbuttoning his shirt, slowly pulling it open, revealing a chest full of tattoos, before letting the shirt slide from his shoulders and arms onto the floor.

Alex's jaw dropped at the sight of the hellish tattoos inked over the mob bosses trim, athletic body. A red dragon was inked over his right arm and neck. The head of the monstrous creature wasnt visible to Alex, as it hooked around across his shoulder and back, its clawed arm clutching against Roman's shoulder. On Roman's left shoulder, a hideous, spaded tail devil grinned back at Alex with leering eyes. The devil was interwoven with other symbols, and runes, one of which was some kind of flag made up of three colored, vertical bars. The chaotic patterns all somehow flowed together, making an oppressive looking sleeve tattoo all the way down to Roman's forearm. But Alex could barely notice any of those tattoos, it was the one inked boldly, proudly across Roman's entire torso that had captivated her eyes.

Across his chest, two black and red disembodied hands, holding a length of barb wire that dug into the flesh of the dark hands, were pulling the strand of barbed wire, cruelly strangling a robed women. The robed women, despite having the barb wire wrapped around her neck, tearing into her throat, had a pleasantly calm, motherly smile across her lips, contrasting the bloody tears trailing from her clesed eyes down her cheeks. It took Alex a moment to realize who the matronly robed woman was supposed to be, but when she saw the hands cupped together in prayer in front of her chest, she knew exactly who it was. Across Roman's entire torso, Roman was tattooed with two demonic hands strangling the virgin Mary to death, as her eyes streamed with bloody tears. Alex was practically aroused by the site of the disgustingly dark body tattoos. She raised her saw towards Roman, revving the engine and swirling the blades, her eyes more aflame with bloodlust then ever before.

Alex waited, watching to see if the big bad mob boss would make the first move. Roman was calm as he swung his sword through the air, before holding it back and above his head in an aggressive stance. Roman sneered back at her, his stone face as much a mask the one Alex wore herself. The time he took unbuttoning his little buttons, had somehow centered and calmed the kingpin. Alex smirked at Roman's elaborate use of stances and decided to play along. She cocked the heavy saw up and over her right shoulder, keeping the bar of the saw pointed directly at Roman, holding down the throttle and letting the engine scream in her ear as she charged. She swung the fume spewing saw down early In front of Roman, down through the air at a diagonal angle, redirecting the momentum up before bringing it straight down towards Roman. Roman did not stand there and take it, he sprinted foreword to reach her, meeting the swan faced killer in the middle, before swinging the curved antique sword through the air in a vicious downward arc. The saw blades met the Eastern sword with a terrible clash of metal and sparks. Alex felt the saw jump up into the air, as its teeth bit against the ancient steel of the Japanese relic. Likewise, Roman staggered back, bringing his sword into a guarded stance. Alex revved the saw defiantly, and Roman glared back at her, unfazed and unimpressed. Alex snarled her lips under her mask and continued her assault.

Alex carved a jagged line across the front of the desk, sending wood chips flying through the air, as the mob boss easily stepped out of the way of her attack. To his credit, the man was a slippery bastard. Every time Alex thought she had him cornered he would parry the blade before slipping away. Roman swung the ancient Japanese sword at Alex as she recovered. She blocked the priceless museum piece with the heavy housing of the chainsaw. The sword further cracked the thick plastic housing of the saw, before Roman stepped away from Alex's sweeping counter attack. Alex pressed the attack, blind with vengeful aggression, not letting up from the mob boss. She backed Roman against a wall before swinging the heavy whirling saw down on Roman. Roman had no choice but to block with the blade of his antique sword, swinging the side of the sword against the heavy strike, battering it away from his body. Roman jumped back, as the impact knocked his weapon towards him, sending his shoulders flat against the wall behind him. Alex swept a wild horizontal swing after the mobster, digging through the drywall behind him, as he once again, stepped away from her attack.

The nimble bastard dodged the whirling saw blades effortlessly. Alex glared at the mob boss. He had been dancing outside of her reach, instead of fighting for the last few minutes now. She knew what he up to, he was trying to tire her out. She could feel the ache in her arms and shoulders, even her back was beginning to scream out in pain, but she simply ignored it. The Killer Swans didnt feel pain, so neither did she. She pressed the attack, using shear fury and aggression to drive Roman back into a corner, where his lithe legs couldnt help him escape. Even cornered, the mob boss remained unnaturally calm and controlled, pissing Alex off to no end.

Alex thrust the whirling teeth of the saw towards Roman's stoic face. The mob boss stepped to the side, sweeping the blade of his sword across his body and parrying the spinning saw aside, deflecting it away from him. Alex's saw bounced and jammed itself into the drywall to the side or Roman, while the mob boss simply absorbed the shock, with the blunt side of his sword pressed against his arm. To Alex's surprise, the mob boss didnt try to scamper away again, but instead took a step towards her, bringing the left side of his body close against hers, even with his sword off to the side against the housing of her saw. Roman removed his left hand from the handle of his sword, and threw a vicious elbow strike, letting out a loud yell through his snarling lips. The mob bosses elbow crashed against Alex's skull with so much force, Alex saw stars. When her vision cleared, the first thing she saw, was the ceiling swirl into view. It wasnt until the back of her head bounced against the floor, that she realized her legs had given out underneath her.

Alex's heavy weapon bounced against the ground, her right hand still gripped around it, her body refusing to release the handle, even while her mind was still reeling. Roman's leather dress shoe stomped down against her forearm painfully, tearing Alex's mind back into reality, and away from her dazed state. Her fingers squeezed around the throttle, revving the saw and spinning the bladed chain, but her arm was trapped, and the blades spun futilely, more of a danger to herself then the kingpin. Alex looked up at the mob boss who now stood over her, his sword held above his head, the point of the blade angled straight down, poised to pierce her throat.

The battered antique blade plunged down at Alex with terrifying speed and accuracy. Whether it was quick thinking and adrenaline, or sheer blind luck, Alex managed to slam her gloved hand over the tip of the blade, knocking the thrust aside so it just missed her, digging into the hard floor near her head. Roman simply lifted the sword and thrust it down again, faster this time. Alex again swatted the blade aside. A loud surprised yelp escaped her lips, betraying her Killer Swan persona, as the tip of the sword sliced through her glove and tore into the palm of her hand.

Roman snapped the toe of his fancy leather dress shoe foreword, catching Alex under the chin with it. Alex's vision blurred and spun before her eyes, her mind scrambled and dazed. She was powerless to do anything to stop the killing blow from raining down on her now. Alex squinted her eyes and turned her head, as the tip of the sword came down. The tip pierced its way through Alex's mask, plunging towards her skull. Alex felt the sword pass through the swan mask's eyes and lance towards her face. The blade eclipsed her vision, as it sank into the concrete, passing mere centimeters in front of her eyes. Alex didnt have much time for Roman to realize he had stabbed nothing but mask. Flat on her back, with the mob bosses foot trapping the arm attached to her weapon, she only had one means of attack.

Alex clenched her bloodied fist tightly, her mind swimming from the pain and adrenaline, as the wound gushed a trail of red down her wrist and forearm, before thrusting it upwards with all of her might. Alex strike was blind, but accurate. Her knuckles crashed up through Roman's testicles, before slamming up between his legs with what was left of her might. A loud, deep groan escaped Roman's lips, and she felt the sole of his shoe slip from her forearm. The blade lifted from her mask as the mob boss staggered backwards. Alex didnt waste any time, she threw her bloodied hand for the top handle of her gas powered weapon, letting her beauty roar to life as she spun her body back around, swinging the whirling blades at Roman's retreating form.

Alex heard Roman grunt, as she scrambled to her feet, swinging the revving chainsaw back and forth wildly. When she finally reached up and straightened her mask, the first thing she saw was Roman's hate ridden face lunging towards her. She barely managed to raise the chainsaw housing to block the sudden barrage of blows, that sent pieces of orange plastic flying off in all directions. Roman let out a mighty yell, turning his body and swinging his leg around and straight towards Alex, slamming into her stomach and sending her sprawling onto the hard office floor.

Alex's stomach screamed in pain as she lifted her body up into a sitting position. She heard the sound of the chainsaw's motor quit, sputtering one final protest before going silent. Alex's fingers were clumsy as they reached for the pull cord, her body still racked with the concussion from Roman's fearsome blow. Her fingers touched the plastic housing of the chainsaw next to the pull cord, before recoiling in pain. It wasnt the handle break this time, the motor was overheated. She had felt the heat growing warmer and warmer from the handles, but it was now burning to the touch. Alex grimly yanked the cord anyway, having no other option but to try and start her weapon back up, and wait for Roman's counter attack. To her surprise though, no attack would come.

Roman was staring down at her. He was only a few feet away, but he did not attack, he just stood there, staring. The intense rage fueling his sudden and frenzied attacks had begun to dissipate. He now simply stood there, with pained eyes, wide with surprise. It was then Alex noticed the steady stream of red, dripping onto the floor by his feet. She watched the small puddle of blood, fed by the rapidly falling droplets, running off of Roman's left hand and in between his curled fingers. Alex's eyes followed the trail of blood up to the source. There on Roman's left bicep, was a serious gash through his muscle, half severing his arm. Alex realized she was holding her breath, it was finally over. She was just as surprised as the mob boss was, as far as she could tell, by the bewildered look plastered over his face. Roman took a step to the side, towards the middle of the office, away from Alex. Alex began to rise to her feet, prompting Roman to raise his ancient sword above his head with his remaining good arm. Alex simply watched the conflict behind the mob bosses eyes. Whatever it was racing through his mind, it was causing him as much pain as the deadly wound on his arm. Alex could plainly see the wound on his arm was deep, that if he didnt stop the bleeding sometime soon, no amount of willpower and eastern meditations would keep him from keeling over. Yet still, Roman stood before her, bound by pride to keep fighting.

Alex slowly shifted her legs around, so she half sat, half squatted on the ground, afraid any sudden movement could force the kingpin to attack before she could stand, or worse, try to escape. Roman and Alex's eyes both moved at the same time, at the sudden stirring to her right, to where Alex was sitting. Ash, who had been lying face down and motionless through the entire fight, was moving his legs. Alex looked back up to Roman's eyes, and saw the realization creep into his mind. Alex and Ash were in between him and the exit. He was running out of options. The kingpin snapped out of his own head and yelled ferociously through his bared teeth, bringing the sword back even further, poised to throw it. Alex lifted her overheated saw, shielding her body as she remained low on the ground. Roman suddenly turned away from her though, and sprinted towards his desk. He threw the sword with all of his might, sending the sword streaking over his large desk and piercing its blade through the window behind it. The glass exploded outward, following the sword as it tumbled through the air. Roman shielded his face and neck with his remaining good arm and flung himself through the broken glass, groaning painfully as he crashed through the sharp shards and landed on the hard concrete outside of the club.

Alex sprang to her feet as quickly as she could, with her legs still unsteady from the heavy kick to her stomach. Before she could regain her balance, Ash was back on his feet, shouldering past her, his gun held out. Ash fired rapidly at Roman's retreating frame as it ran past the window. Alex followed Ash, who moved mechanically towards the window, firing several more shots after Roman, into the dark city night. Ash aimed out the broken window, lining up the sights of his pistol at the mob boss, as he ran straight into traffic. Before he could pull the trigger, a yellow taxi screeched on its brakes, nearly running the kingpin over. Roman rolled over the hood of the taxi, ducking on the other side of the yellow car, that was now blocking Ash's shot. The sound of police sirens in the distance, caused Alex and Ash's spines to straighten, their bodies snapping in attention. The Russians were not above open war with the police, so violent crimes became battles, the police force had to pick and chose. It was becoming rare for the police to show up at all, in Russian infested areas these days, and when they did, they came in force.

Alex lifted her overheated saw, showing Ash, who instinctively understood. Ash took the lead, holding his pistol out, checking the hallway, before moving foreword quickly. Alex followed in her brothers footsteps, though not as well he followed in hers. Ash lead them out the emergency exit, carefully checking each corner, as he made his way foreword, moving as professionally and as quickly as he could. Alex felt a swirl of emotions from inside herself. They werent quite off the hook yet, but they had finished all the killing, unless there were more unexpected surprises waiting for them on their way to the van. They had massacred everyone who stood in their path, except one, inarguably the most important person they could have killed got away. So she felt a strong disappointment in the prey getting away, but equally a surge of pride in her and her dear brother for making the fantasy a reality. Right now though, she wanted nothing more then a bag of green, a comfy couch, and her brother to share them with. The two had a lot to talk about when they got home.

Ash led his sister briskly towards the parking lot, around the back of the club. They moved quickly, in unison, as the police sirens grew closer and closer. They weaved through the cars making their way towards the spray painted, turquoise blue van. Ash mentally sighed in relief, as he continued his machine like movements towards the side of the van. He reached his left hand out, and pulled down the handle, yanking the heavy van door, and sliding it open. The barrel of a shotgun shoved its way into Ash's face. Ash's arm snapped up, bringing his weapon to bare on his attacker, but before he could pull the trigger, he recognized the the masked figure pointing the gun at his head.

Mark's eyes widened under his bear mask, as he quickly raised his shotgun away from the swan mask. "Wait wait, its me, its me!" Mark said quickly, as Ash's pistol raised up. Ash kept his finger off of the trigger, as he glanced back at his psycho sister. Mark winced, she was practically drenched in blood. She would probably make a good slasher flick villain in her next life, assuming she wasnt already one. Alex placed her arm on Ash's shoulder pad and turned her swan mask's bill towards the front of the van. Ash slammed the van door shut again, and the two made their way into the driver and passenger side doors. Ash and Alex said nothing, apparently communicating through body language as they got into their respective seats, with Ash behind the wheel.

Mark watched the two nervously, the sounds of the sirens growing ever closer. If they got busted in a 50 Blessings van, with masks, guns and a chainsaw, there was no way in hell they were going anywhere, without cuffs or a body bag. "Common, lets get out of here!" Mark whined, gripping the back of the twins seats nervously. "Shut up, I'm looking for the keys…" Ash said, the tension in his voice clearly audible. Alex just looked around through the windows, trying to spot the cop cars before they rolled up. Mark gasped in disbelief. "You dont have the keys on you?" He asked frantically. Ash muttered under his breath. "I didnt say that, I just cant… just shut up would you?" Ash said, checking under the visor of the front seat. Alex reached towards the ash tray and pulled the key from it, before sliding it into the ignition. "Here!" She said, before Ash turned the key.

The engine of the van rumbled to life. Mark held his breath as Ash threw the van into drive and rolled them from the parking lot. Alex tapped the passenger window rapidly with her finger, as Mark whirled his head to the right of the van. Red and blue flashing lights in the distance, they were less then a minute away. Everyone in the van was holding their breath, as Ash was forced to wait for traffic. When an opening in traffic finally appeared, Mark and Alex both threw their hands foreword at the same time and shouted. "There!" In unison. Ash signaled and took the left handed turn. "I see it I see it…" He mumbled, his voice tense. Mark glanced down at the speedometer, noticing Ash was driving the speed limit rather then peeling out, as he would have done in Ash's place. Mark fell onto his knees, before stumbling to the back of the van. He felt a wet spot on his knee, and realized he had knelt in some blood, before looking out the back window. He watched, as his heart beat a thousand times a minute, as the police convoy arrived, only three cars behind them. The first car turned into the parking lot, followed by the second one. The rest fanned out, parking around the club from every angle… and none of them followed.

Mark watched the cop cars, with his rubber mask smashed against the back window, his breath fogging the glass. Ash turned, leaving the flashing lights and sirens behind them. Mark screamed in pure elation. He pumped his fist through the air victoriously, before throwing his head and body back, towards his rescuers. Ash slammed his fist down against the steering wheel, again and again, as he started screaming "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" through gritted teeth, while his sister clapped her hands wildly before throwing them up towards the ceiling of the van, letting out a long, ear piercing "Wooooooo!". Mark fell onto his knees again, as he scampered back to the front of the van, sliding up in between the twin seats. He roared triumphantly in their ears and beat his fists against the back of their seats, shaking them back and forth. Alex reached back and smacked her fingertips over Mark's mask, shoulders and chest, patting the big bear affectionately. Ash kept his body foreword, but reached one hand back and did the same, slapping his hand over the top of Mark's masked head again and again, while the twins continued to whoop and yell. Mark grabbed the twins by the shoulder pads and shook them, while letting a low, testosterone filled growl escape his lips before yelling "We fucked them up!"

Ash pumped his fist, striking the review mirror and tilting it at a strange angle, before screaming. "Yea!" Alex punched both of her hands up towards the ceiling of the van again, and screamed "Fuck yea!" to accompany her brother. Mark was ecstatic, it was relief, like he had never experienced before. He survived looking death straight in the eyes. He did more then just survive though, he showed all those mother fuckers what happens when you kick a sleeping bear. "We killed ALL those mother fuckers!" Mark screamed, to the accompanying "Yea!" Of the twins, as they continued to whoop and yell, until they eventually relaxed into a fit of excited giggling. Alex whirled her body around, smacking the bill of her rubber mask against the gaping mouth of Mark's bear mask. "Mark! How did you get free?" She asked excitedly. Mark leaned back, inching back towards his seat behind them before answering. "I dont know, I just… I just…" Mark said, looking for the right words. Ash looked up into the rear view mirror, looking back at him with hungry, eager eyes. "Yea? Yea?" Ash asked excitedly. Mark continued. "I… just went fucking NUTS!" Mark said, giving another victory yell. The twins yelled right back, screaming like maniacs, to the point where they began to swerve all over the road.

Alex lifted her mask just high enough to flash Mark a sweet smile. "You got to tell us ALL about it Mark." She said earnestly. Mark nodded, gathering his thoughts for his story time, before Ash interrupted. "Say Mark, what are you going to do now?" Ash asked. It was a simple question, vague and probing, but simple. Mark knew what Ash was getting at though, he was most likely referring to the reservations Mark had in becoming a mass murdering vigilante. More then reservations really, flat out refusal. Mark didnt think about his answer, he just gave it. "I want to fucking kill them all!" Mark screamed giving the twins another shake. Ash turned his head, to look back at him directly, before jerking back towards the road. "You want to do it again?" Ash asked in disbelief. Mark threw his hands up triumphantly, feeling a welling of power and energy erupt inside him. "I want to do it again!" Mark yelled. The twins joined in his yelling, and they continued driving down the road like the trio of maniacs they had become.

When all the yelling, laughing, and shouting of exclamations had finally died down, there was a brief moment of silence that stretched on for awhile. Mark took the moment to gather his thoughts, and reflecting on all that had transpired, not only the night or violence and torture, but everything leading up to it as well. Alex broke Mark's silent reflecting, by looking back and glancing at him playfully, before turning towards her brother. "Mark's fun when he wants to be, huh?" Alex said, with a certain "I told you so" kind of tone in her voice. Ash sighed, and lowered his masked head, before nodding. "Yea, he is…" Ash grumbled, as if admitting guilt. Mark watched Alex stare at her brother, and could almost see a smug grin through her blood splattered swan mask. "Arent you glad we didnt kill him?" Alex asked sweetly. Ash nodded with a sigh. "Yea, yea…" He said reluctantly. Mark felt a chill run through his spine. "What?"


	18. Chapter 18

The last twelve hours had been a roller coaster of emotions for Corey. By the time she and Tony ditched the stolen car, and walked back to her apartment, it was practically the next morning. Corey did her best to relish the moment of triumph, that they had done the impossible. They had scaled the tower of vice, killing everyone inside. Tony, however, proved to be a poor person to share in revelry. Tony joined in by bragging how he swooped in and saved Corey's ass, with backhanded insults to mask any compliments, and then proceeded to spoil the mood entirely by rubbing it in, that they had failed to find the man they were looking for. Failed… Corey felt like punching the big lug in the face. It was one thing to belittle her with his macho ego bullshit, hell, Corey was becoming immune to being offended by abrasive personalities after spending so much time with Tony, but it was another thing entirely for him to spit his negative bile on things, like the entire night was somehow a failure, because they didnt take down the kingpin himself. In place of where Corey hoped to find rejoicing and purpose, she felt only dark frustration.

After gritting her teeth, and forcing Tony's words to just roll over her, Corey desperately tried to keep their little party going. The "party" consisted of a twenty four pack of cheap beer, and explaining in detail, how amazing they both were, and relishing the little details on how they violently vanquished their foes. That lasted for a good half hour or so, but the longer Corey talked, the more and more Tony's eyes begun to glaze over. Soon, she was talking to herself, in front of a half asleep muscle head, who looked like he could topple over at any moment. Tony finally stopped pretending he was still listening to Corey, and excused himself from the conversation. That is to say, he walked away suddenly, removed his mask and military vest, and sank down on her coach to fall asleep, without saying so much as a word.

It was then Corey became aware they had been spreading blood samples of their multiple victims throughout her apartment. She had the aggravating task of getting a half conscious, Tony to undress, while occasionally slapping his square jawed face to keep him from passing out, so he wouldnt further stain her apartment with the droplets of blood, half dried on his clothing. After literally tugging off the big man's pants, nearly entirely by herself, unless you count the minimal effort Tony gave by undoing his fly, she then moved to remove his black t shirt entirely on her own. She peeled the sweat damp shirt from Tony's muscular body, gritting her teeth in frustration. She stared down at Tony, wanting very much to curl her fingers to make a fist and bash the brutes nose in while he slept.

Her fingers relaxed as she watched Tony slumber. She felt a sudden impulsive urge, watching the muscular man's shapely chest rise and fall, at the way he blew each breath from the side of his lips with a little snarl. It wasnt because she was staring at Tony in his boxers, that the small cotton shorts left little to her imagination, or that she was so close to his glistening physique, it was the look on his face, the look of total peace. Cory couldnt remember the last time she saw violent brute so relaxed. The more Corey thought on it, the more she realized she had never seen Tony like this. The man's body was a permanent tempest of muscle and hate. But now, lying back on Corey's couch, he was so at peace, he looked almost vulnerable. Corey reached her fingers out towards Tony, her mind buzzing with anxiety, unsure why she felt the need to touch the big lug, of how she could have feelings, even confusing ones, for a man like Tony. Her wavering fingertips couldnt decide on which part of Tony they wanted to touch, so she settled with the slumbering brutes cheek. After her fingertips gently stroked themselves across Tony's face, the big man's reaction was immediate.

Corey leapt backwards, as she saw a violent stirring from the slumbering brute. Tony's hand had immediately clenched itself into a fist and swung through the air in front of him, missing Corey by little less then a foot. Corey stumbled and fell backwards onto the end table, flat on her rump, before springing to her feet. Corey held her breath as Tony's eyelids opened, and his eyes lazily focused on her face. When the big lug realized who it was who had touched him, his eyelids immediately collapsed back over his cloudy eyes. Tony's head leaned off to the side, and within a matter of seconds, the strong man was once again fast asleep. Corey couldnt help but laugh, as she shook her head, and made a mental note to herself. Never wake a sleeping Tony.

Corey regretted not punching Tony in the face when she had the chance. She was staring down at her bathtub, filled partly with soapy water. She was wearing her white fluffy bathrobe, but otherwise nothing else. Her underwear was in the pile with the rest of the "vigilante clothing" in front of the tub, both her and Tony's. Was it fair she had to literally wash Tony's clothes? Would he care if it was fair or not? Would he make a sexist comment and refuse to pitch in, if he was awake to ask? Yes, no, yes. Corey groaned in protest, to herself, as she grabbed Tony's dark colored cargo pants and threw them into the soapy water. It wasnt like she could have the tiny red droplets rub off all over her apartment, so there was nothing she could do on the matter but clean up after the two of them. She got into a low, squatting stance, as she tossed in the rest of their clothes in, scrubbing them with a sponge she had taken from the sink. Well, she may have been reduced to that of a vigilante house wife, at least for the moment, it could be worse. It could be her blood turning the soapy water a light pink.

She scrubbed the droplets and streaks of blood from her mask with a deep frown. The clean slice into the nose of the zebra face and become a deep, ugly tear. The mask was the first symbolic step in her journey to create Corey the zebra… and now the actual zebra mask, was just a damaged scrap of rubber. Corey surprised herself, when she realized she felt only mildly upset at the thought of losing her zebra face. She reached her hand out over the bathroom waste basket, and with only a slight bit of hesitation, released it to fall against the cushion of wadded up tissue paper lining the bottom. She could always get a another mask. It wasnt the mask itself, it was what was behind the mask that mattered.

She felt her laser like focus, begin to blink and stutter. She had been under an adrenaline fueled "vigilante clarity" ever since her fight or flight instincts gave way to the power of her own zebra persona. Apparently even the zebra in her, had her limits. She stumbled, knocking her shoulder into the wall, as she finished hanging the hand washed clothing on every flat surface and towel rack she could find in the bathroom. This must have been what Tony was feeling, she imagined, as she felt her eyelids begin to creep down over her eyes, and her vision began to blur. It felt like someone had just released a trap door to her energy levels. She had been driving on nothing but fumes, fumes and the fleeting feeling of triumph that came and went before Corey had a chance to process it. Her body was spent, and it took all of her willpower to stumble her way to her bedroom before passing out, face first, onto her bed.

Which all lead her to where she was now, in her white fluffy bathrobe, staring at her wall of Jacket, reflecting on everything she had done, all that she had endured, solely on an idea, a strange and unusual passion, that only she and Jacket could understand… or so she had thought. By herself, she doubted her passions would ever leave this room, that it would remain locked away inside of her until the day she died… But Tony had joined her in her crazy fantasies, and now she was standing in the aftermath of their indulgence.

She searched her emotions, searched her soul, trying to determine how it was she felt about everything, from her "transformation" to the actual bit of good their monumental achievement may have brought to the city, having relieved it of dozens of Eastern European killers. She tightly closed her eyes, focusing inward, attempting to pressure cook a reaction, a revelation, anything… to her surprise and detriment, she realize what it was she was feeling. Unsatisfied.

She glanced into the living room, as she opened the bathroom door. Tony was still sound asleep, and was laying sideways on the couch, his arms tightly crossed against his stomach and chest for warmth. Corey checked the time, it was three in the afternoon… and she was worried she had over slept… Tony would probably sleep into the night if she didnt try and wake him. She shook her head and went back to checking on the freshly washed clothing, slipping her orange pants and hot pink sports top on, before hanging up the robe.

Disappointment… emptiness. Was that it? Was that her reward for all of this? Was she a fool to expect anything else? She couldnt help but stand there, as her thoughts began to battle themselves in her mind. What was it she had hoped to feel after all of this? Pride? Satisfaction? Corey realized she probably hoped her new self, Corey the Zebra, would become one with her, replace her weak, glum self with the cool adventurous renegade she had become… but that didnt seem to be the case. She still felt like herself, her old self. She thought about going back into the waste basket, to fish out her damaged mask, hoping it was simply her lack of immersion keeping her from what she wanted… but she knew the problem was deeper then mask level. After all, all it was she had really had done, was kill a whole lot of people.

Her eyelids fluttered in realization, and she glanced towards her open bedroom, at her collage of vigilantism. Jacket hadnt just killed a lot of people, he killed them all. He did what she had done, but on a far grander scale, again, and again, and again. Over a dozen buildings were linked to Jacket's bloody spree. He killed his way all the way up to the top, to the leader of the Russian mob, who had blown his own brains out, rather then face Jacket's primal wrath. Thats where the police had found him. Smoking a cigarette on the top floor balcony, just outside of the room he had executed the mob bosses elderly, wheel chair bound father. He was staring off into the Miami cityscape, calm and serene, without a care in the world.

Of course she didnt feel fulfilled, of course she would feel numb. Jacket didnt clap his hands and pat himself on the back after his first vigilante spree, he kept going, he finished what he started. Corey's eyes flashed with determination. She knew, they were not done yet. Roman's apartment complex was not the only target they had considered for their vigilante spree. They knew where Roman was supplying the drugs to his dealers, a shady used car lot in one of the seedier neighborhoods. It would be quite a step down from their assault on Roman's building, but it would be something. No doubt Darius would want them to bang up the dealers, non lethally, to send a message to the rest of the degenerates of the city. While it might get them in better standings with the Fan Club bar, Corey knew it didnt matter in the slightest. She had her first taste of blood now, it would be nearly impossible to ask her to do it again but with non lethal restrictions.

It actually took some major convincing to get the big brute to go along with her plan. She had woken him up by fixing them dinner, well Tony's breakfast, just a half dozen eggs, scrambled in a skillet. She clomped her feet, she slammed the fridge door, banged the pots, making every action as loud and sudden as possible so that Tony could wake up "on his own". When he finally got the hint, and redressed himself, he then proceeded to wolf down most of the eggs, staring straight ahead in silence, still in a daze from his power sleep. When she explained her revaluation, that they had to keep going and finish off Roman's organization while they were still reeling, Tony looked at her like she had sprouted a second head. Corey was surprised Tony had reservations, he seemed to need this more then she did, if not on a purely physical and biochemical level, but the more she thought on it, the more she could understand. She was the reserved one of the two, the voice of reason and logic, where Tony's grand schemes were little more then bash down the front door and start swinging. She could see how her sudden brashness could be seen as uncharacteristically reckless, even unnerving, but it made sense in the grand scheme of things. Tony finally agreed after Corey explained the reasoning behind it. Roman and his operation would be scrambling after the attack, so they would try and move his product to safety, at least thats what Corey predicted. In truth, Corey needed that to be the case. She would never admit that to Tony, but she needed another win, another blood soaked victory, to take the place of the overwhelming dread growing in its place. She needed to know, she hadnt been making a horrible, irreversible mistake all this time.

Corey buried her existential crises for the time being. She followed Tony as they wandered through the night streets of Miami, Tony's mask and body armor, stuffed in a large black garbage bag, Corey held in her arms. She tried desperately to tap back into her inner zebra, as Tony selected a new car for them to steal, smashing the window with his fist and unlocking the door with effortless, practiced ease. As she walked around and sat down in the passenger seat, and waited for Tony to finish hot wiring their new ride, an unexpected image popped into Corey's head.

For reasons unknown and unnerving to Corey, the mental image of that bondage bimbo, that attacked her in Roman's room, flashed in her head. Corey grimaced as she recalled the woman, twisted and broken on the pavement, disgustingly wrapped in dark leather. She died tangled in in her fetish… in her fantasies. Corey swallowed the anxiety rising in her chest. She now understood why the leather bound minx came to mind. They were not so different… well, they were, Corey was in no way like that demented sadist… at least, not yet. The thought that she might one day become like her, become inescapably trapped in her own bloodlust, bound by a series of unhealthy decisions, to the point where it would dominated and destroyed her… it horrified Corey to the core of her being.

"Getting close now…" Corey muttered softly under her breath as she watched the street sign for the next turn move into view. Corey did her best to try and bury the miserable reluctance in her voice, but it wasnt enough. Tony grunted as he glanced at her from behind his ravaged mask, giving her a sideways glare, before making the turn. Corey looked away from Tony, keeping her eyes glued straight ahead. She shifted the new mask on her face, as she continued doing her best to keep herself busy, or at least to appear busy. Anything to keep from showing weakness, in front of her partner in crime. Just yesterday Tony was the only one she could share her dark fantasies with, but now, he was the one she couldnt bare to reveal her newly found doubts too.

Her new mask wasn't even made of rubber, but cheap plastic. She dropped down the vanity mirror on the car visor and rechecked how it looked. It was surprisingly graceful, and beautiful compared to her far more expensive and bestial rubber mask. The dark eyes and feminine maw and nose of the creature, reminded Corey of some kind of African ceremonial mask, but with softer lines and expressions. She had picked it up at store where she remembered seeing it in earlier, before Tony jacked them a new car. Though she picked the mask up out of necessity, Corey felt it was a passable successor to her old one, at least for now.

Corey felt the tension in the air between her and Tony, as they neared the shady used car lot. Tony hadnt said more then a few words the entire trip, but from the scowling look in his eyes, and the way his muscles bristled, she could tell he sensed the conflict within her. "Drive around, dont just drive straight in." Corey said, trying to sound as cool and nonchalant as possible. Tony scoffed, but did as she said. Corey narrowed her eyes. It was obvious from the boarded windows and holes along the front of the building, that a firefight had taken place here in the past. She racked her brains, remembering somewhere that she had heard about a gang on gang attack happening somewhere in this part of town. She wouldnt hear the end of it from Tony, if they pulled up, only to find out Roman had moved his base of operations long before they ever got there.

She glanced at Tony out of the corner of her eyes. Tony looked around the car lot half interestedly, but didnt seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Tony parked the car near the back of the lot building and turned to Corey. "Let's finish this." Tony said, his words reverberating with steadfast and violent intent. Corey felt the now familiar, cool and collected zebra persona begin return to her. She gave a small but deliberate nod back, before pulling the release latch of the stolen vehicle.

Tony's body began to shudder with frustration and rage, as his fingers curled his hands into weapons. Corey knew she had to speak up now, before the berserker lost himself in his own adrenaline. "You wait here in the back, I'll scout around the front." Corey said quickly. Tony turned his head over his shoulder to look back at her as he continued to march towards the back door. "Why would we waste time? Lets just bust in, and fuck um up." Tony snarled. Corey sensed spite behind is words, spite aimed towards her. She couldnt really blame Tony, he had told her loud and clear when he walked out on her, after their first vigilante spree, he felt she was using him as an excuse to not take responsibility for herself. She had put to much pressure on a the man, especially someone as self serving and primitive as Tony. However valid her inner reflections were at the moment, she couldnt allow them to damage the delicate relationship she and Tony shared. It was time to dig deep, push all nonessential thoughts aside, and become the murder zebra once more.

Tony approached the back door of the car lot building. He reached foreword and checked the simple door knob, giving it a shake. Locked, just as Corey expected. Tony looked back at Corey, before turning back around, lifting his leg to kick the door in and begin the massacre. "Wait." Corey said quickly. Tony hesitated, losing his balanced, and shifting his foot back to the pavement. He turned his head around and cast her a whithering look. "We dont know whose in there, we cant just smash up innocent people…" Corey said as carefully as she could, making sure every syllable from her voice was masked in cool professionalism, and not reservation or fear. Tony snorted in disgust anyway. "I dont give a shit who we fuck up. If their here, they chose to be here, its on them. Fuck um." Tony said, spitting the words from the side of his lips. Corey took a deep breath before replying. "Just let me scout around for a bit… I take to long or you hear anything, go ahead and break the door in. Just dont hit me in the confusion." Corey said, doing her best to sound like a professional, and not like a nag. Tony rolled his eyes and tightly clenched his fists, as he looked down at the door in front of him like he was trying to burn a hole through it with his anger. "Don't take to long." Tony warned.

Corey crept around the side of the building, admittedly taking far longer then she thought she would. Every noise her white skater shoes made, was like an earthquake in her ears. She probably looked like an idiot, moving in slow motion as she moved quietly to the front corner of the building. She quickly jerked her head around the corner of the building, taking in all that she could, before quickly jerking her head back. At first, she was convinced the front of the building was clear… but something she had seen bothered her. She poked her head around the corner again and confirmed what it was she saw. The boards put in place over the shot out windows… had bullet holes through them, lots of them. She glanced down at the pavement in front of the building, at the pieces of glass fragments sporadically scattered about.

Corey narrowed her eyes, she wasnt quite sure what this meant. Was this building a warzone twice already? Once after the shot out windows were boarded up already? If so, how recent was this last attack? The sound of muffled voices from the building silenced her inner monologue. "Where's the drugs?" A voice said, barely audible, even with Corey straining her entire body to listen. "Got some weed on this guy… just a few onces…" Another voice said. "Barely worth our time…" The first voice responded. "Help me check their wallets, we're not going home empty handed."

Corey deciphered what it was she was hearing, they had stumbled upon a robbery. She knew that wouldnt change anything, especially if she ran it by Tony. Robbers, Russian mob, drug running thugs, it was open season on scum bags as far as he was concerned. A voice, closer then the rest, again interrupted her thoughts. "I'm going to get some fresh air…" The voice mumbled.

Corey pulled herself back around the corner, just as she saw the front door of the building begin to swing open. She held her breath as she took a retreating step backwards, her ears keyed in on the sound of the heavy footsteps coming her way. Corey wasnt sure if the man exiting the front door had seen her or not, all she knew, was that he was coming her way. She fought the urge to turn tale and run. While that would get her out of harms way before the attacker had time to fire wildly at her retreating form… it would also give away her position, if it wasnt compromised already. She took another step back, looking around her for anything that could be used as a weapon. A small piece of the sidewalk moved under her foot. She looked down at the sorry state the inner city pavement, before reaching down and removing a fist sized chunk of rough, jagged concrete. Not the most ideal weapon, but beggars cant be choosers.

Corey's body stiffened as she heard the heavy boot crunch against the sidewalk near the front of the building. She fought the urge to just turn and run, but she calmed herself with a deep breath. She cocked the slab of concrete back, poised to throw. She would have to be fast as well as accurate. The wandering man took one step from around the corner. The instant Corey's would be assailant came into view, her arm exploded outward, sending the piece of rough, porous sidewalk fragment, darting through the air. The chunk of concrete bounced across the masked gunman's forehead. Corey held her breath, as the gunman leveled his gun at her. Before Corey could turn and break into a sprint, she noticed the gun waver, and the gunman's legs wobble.

A surge of triumphant joy burst in her chest, as she saw the large gunman fall straight back, and his gun clatter against the pavement besides him. Corey exploded foreword, her feet flying across the pavement before leaping her body straight into the air. She slammed her knees against the gunman's large bulging stomach as she fell down on top of him. The gunman groaned in pain as his breath was forced from his lungs. Corey's hands flew to the gun at the side of the large man's body, pulling up the complicated looking submachine gun in the dark night lighting, unsure which way she should even hold the thing. When she finally flipped the gun's handle in her right hand, she plunged the barrel of the gun against the masked gunman's face, only to have his meaty arm grab her by the wrist and wrench it aside. Corey struggled both of her hands to level the gun back into the masked face of the robber, when she felt something jab against her ribcage, causing her to wince in pain, her body still racked with soreness from being slammed around the inside of an elevator like a sack of potatoes. She looked down in horror, realizing her mistake. The gunman had a second gun. She grit her teeth, and did her best to level the robbers own gun towards his masked forehead, even as the gunman held her life in his hands, more specifically, on his trigger finger.

She noticed the gunman hadnt moved much since he shoved the second submachine gun against her ribcage. She looked down at his brown eyes from the holes in his mask, and realized he was staring back at her. In all the excitement, she hadn't stopped and examined her attacker. Since they seemed to have each other in what they call a "Mexican standoff" in the movies… she decided to do so now. The large, broad man was clearly obese, his gut was actually a rather comfortable cushion for her legs. If it wasn't for the rough nylon of his combat vest, and the hard, metal plates inside them pressing up against her hot pink knee pads, the fat man would have made an excellent bean bag chair. The open mouthed, snarling jaws of the animal mask the gunman wore glared up at her, even as the gunman's eyes watched her, wide with shock. She realized after a moment of staring, that it was a brown bear mask.

Mark's brown beard and brown eyes suddenly flashed in Corey's mind, as well as a random memory she had of her rubbing the big bears whiskers like an idiot before he shoved her away laughing. Big bear… "Mark?" Corey whispered in disbelief. The gunman's head shuddered in response, and she felt the gun pull away from her side. Corey quickly sat back, into a crouching position, before noticing the big man struggle to get up. She offered him a hand, which the gunman took after dropping the gun in his left hand. She pulled the fat man up into a sitting position, and simply stared back at him, wordless. The gunman, who clearly had to have been Mark, was so astonished, he didnt seem to notice he had released both of his guns, and that Corey held one of them in her hands. "Corey…" Mark whispered, his voice dripping with reverence. Before Corey could say anything in response, the loud crash of the back door being battered open by Tony's foot filled the night's sky.

Tony was fed up with waiting. He didnt know what was going on in that dizzy chick's head, but it was driving him nuts. They just committed the killing spree of the century, facing down armed guards, impossible odds, and came out on top. Tony would of thought that would be enough for the little mass murderer, but the next day, before their wounds even began to heal, she has this crazy idea to attack them again, to keep them off balance or some shit. He didnt know what got into her, but it wasnt like he could refused. If he wussed out, because he had a few boo boos on his hands, some soreness in his arms, he would be the very definition of a pussy. He wasnt about to let a woman out man him, so in the end he had no choice but to go along with her crazy shit. Whatever… it was only pain. Pain couldnt stop Tony, it wouldnt even slow him down.

Tony might have admired Corey, for being as tough as any man he'd known, if she wasnt so stereotypically air headed and ditsy. It took her a whopping twenty minutes, to suddenly transform back into the timid little zebra, hiding behind her mask and taking a minute to think about what it was she wanted to say instead of just fucking saying it. Having him wait by the front door while she skulked around in the dark, was just the tipping point for Tony. Still, nothing to be done about any of that shit now. Right now, it was time to fuck some shit up.

Tony's foot crashed through the back door as if it was a medieval battering ram. As the door flew from its hinges from the shear force of Tony's leg ripping through it, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. Three dead bodies, shot multiple times, were scattered around the building, at least the part of it Tony could see. Two masked robbers, were looting the cash from the corpses wallets, as well as any jewelry or drugs they could find on their persons. The two robbers stared up at Tony as he hulked towards them, with fire spewing from his ravenous eyes, hungry for a challenge. As one of the robbers fumbled for his pistol, the other bird headed bandit fired up a battered chainsaw lying on the ground besides them. The chainsaw wielding robber rose to their feet before swinging the whirling teeth of the saw towards Tony. Tony wasnt impressed. He caught the chainsaw wielders blow by the plastic housing of the smoke spewing machine, stopping the attack dead in its tracks. The chainsaw wielder tried desperately to move the spinning blades towards Tony's arms, but his grip stood firm, unwavering. Before Tony could bash the robbers brains from their masked head, the "number two" robber, pulled his pistol from his belt, leveling it up at Tony. Tony removed one hand from the chainsaw housing and slapped the back of his gloved fist across the metal barrel of the gun. A gunshot rang out, just missing blowing a hole through Tony's hand, as the robber's entire body spun to the side from the momentum of the blow. Still, the stubborn bastard didnt let go of his gun, and already raising it back around at Tony. Tony's muscles bulged as he continued to keep his ironclad grip on the chainsaw, holding it away from his body with one arm, while he reached out and caught the masked gunman, around his fist, lifting the gun away from him as a shot rang out above their heads.

Tony curled his fingers tightly against the gunman's fingers and knuckles, squeezing them around the handle of the gun painfully. He felt the bones begin to creak, and the gunman's legs give out as he fell to his knees, grunting in pain. Tony felt like Hercules himself as he held the two masked bandits, one in each arm, until the combat boot from the chainsaw wielder flung upwards into his groin. Tony's body shuddered and his eyes widened as shock and pain lit up his senses. His grip momentarily slipped from the saw, and Tony collapsed backwards, to avoid the swirling metal teeth from ripping through his masked face. Before the bird masked bandit could bring the whirling blades down on his head, Tony regained his grip on the saw, only to lose the gunman's hand from his grasp. As the number 2 bird leveled his gun at Tony's head, the tiger masked brute swung a short, quick back fist across the gunman's jaw, spinning his head around before the rest of him followed, landing face first across the ground. Since Tony was lying on his back, struggling to keep a roaring engine powered saw blade from his neck and shoulder, it wasnt exactly a powerful strike he landed on the little gunman, but it was enough to knock the fucker flat out from the looks of it. Tony threw his second hand back to the chainsaw housing, to hold the saw away from his face, as the chainsaw wielder threw their entire body behind it, catching him off balance for a moment.

Tony glared up at the chainsaw wielder, matching her wild, unstable glare with a furious, challenging glare of his own. Tony roared as he brought both of his feet up and kicked the chainsaw wielder against their hips, sending the robber's body sailing through the air, slamming back against the wall. The chainsaw bounced and clattered against the ground besides the masked robber, as they sank to the ground. Tony watched with a scoff, as the stubborn thug, refused to quit, trying to start back up the saw, hands shaking the entire time. Tony wasnt about to let that happen.

He lumbered towards the fallen robber, ready to bring his knee up against the masked head and splatter its insides against the wall. Tony felt the impact of the gunshot against the back of his vest before he even heard it. Tony staggered foreword, as three more bullets slammed into his back. Tony looked over his shoulder at the gunman, who rose to his feet slowly, raising the gun to aim at his head. He grit his teeth, realizing he had made an error not killing him first, before going for the saw. He glared back at the gunman, his eyes seething with tenacious hatred. The gunman blinked, his calm, machine like focus seemingly wavering at the intensity of Tony's glare, and something what looked to be… respect blossomed in his eyes. Tony growled back at him. He didnt want friends, he wanted victims. His only regret was that he wouldnt be able to kill them both, before the gunman emptied his gun into his brain pan.

He wondered how many shots to the head it would take, to finally bring him down, and if he would have enough time to reach the gunman, after smashing his partners brains against the wall first. Before he made any moves to finish off the downed chainsaw wielder, he saw Corey creep up into view. Tony smirked under his mask, and kept his defiant gaze glued to the soon to be dead gunman's eyes. Corey lifted what looked to be an MP5 submachine gun, and leveled it at the gunman's head. When Corey was close enough to where even a blind monkey could make the shot, Tony whirled around back to the chainsaw wielder, bringing his brown cowboy boot back so he could drive the pointy tip through the robbers teeth.

"Tony STOP!" Corey cried out. Tony staggered, as he let his foot crash back to the ground, aborting the kick as it was midway to the robbers face. The gunman's body stiffened, but he kept his gun trained on Tony's head, even as Corey nudged the side of his masked face with the barrel of her gun. "Drop the gun." Corey said calmly. The gunman hesitated, before finally obeying. "Great, now lets…" Corey didnt get to finish her sentence. She gasped in shock and pain, as the bird masked man crashed his elbow back against her stomach, and grabbing the MP5 with both hands. Corey's body spun through the air before slamming back against the ground, as the gunman swung her around by the gun. Corey groaned in pain, as the gunman stomped his foot against her stomach, trying to wrestle the gun from her grasp, pushing off against her abdomen for leverage.

Tony couldnt focus on Corey's fight, he could only focus at the roaring machine the fallen robber was bringing up between his legs. Tony quickly threw his hands down, keeping the spinning blades from either of his inner thighs, but thats all he could do, hold the plastic housing, as the robber, with an infinitely better grip on the weapon, jerked it back and forth against his grasp. Tony clenched his teeth as he focused all of his strength, keeping the saw from moving more then a few centimeters, each time the robber threw their body side to side. Tony didnt like the position he was in, as he widened his stance, bringing his groin dangerously close to the side of the whirling saw blades. They wouldnt slice up into his groin, since the saw bar was angled horizontally, but he really didnt want to see what would happen, when the spinning chains dragged across it all the same.

Corey struggled to catch her breath, as the gunman, who turned out to be Ash, continued to press down with his heavy boot against her chest. Corey lifted her foot up and kicked Ash directly in the face, as he struggled to pulled the weapon up from her grip. Ash's body shuddered, as he attempted to ignore the big hit, but a second and third kick drove Corey's point home. Corey swung her heel up against Ash's throat, pushing up against it, lifting his chin, as she doubled her efforts to rip the gun away from his grasp. Corey managed to actually get a full breath of air, elevating the pressure on her chest by lifting up against Ash's neck. "Ash stop!" She cried out. Ash continued to struggle for a moment, but eventually, his body grew rigid. "It's me, Corey." Corey said, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. Ash blinked and stared down at her, but otherwise made no effort to get his foot from her chest, or his hands from the gun.

Alex thrashed with all her might against the tiger masked brutes unwavering grip. She could see it, a crack in the big man's ferocious glare. He wouldnt be able to keep her saw away forever, all she had to do was keep on keeping on, and his death grip on the sides of her damaged beauty would slip, and when it does, she will carve his big powerful limbs off, one by one. As the two of them continued to struggle over the saw, a pair of heavy footsteps approached behind the tiger masked man. A loud burst of automatic fire tore through the wall above her and the tiger masked man's heads, sending drywall particles and dust spraying down against them. When the long automatic burst finally ended, a loud deep voice bellowed down at them. "Stop fighting!" Mark commanded. Alex had frozen, save for her finger on the throttle of the saw, and so too had her assailant, who did nothing other then hold the weapon still. Alex released her finger from the throttle control, letting the saw blades whirl to a halt.

Alex watched in surprise as Mark removed his mask, and glared at the two of them. The tiger masked man immediately stood up straight, releasing the saw, seemingly no longer interested in Alex at all. Alex grimaced, undoubtedly offended that Mark could somehow draw a crowd better then she could, but she had more to worry about then that. She scrambled to her feet, looking around at the other four figures, standing or rising to their feet as well. Ash was even helping the zebra masked vigilante up to their feet. She looked over to her brother with questioning eyes. Ash simply looked back, seemingly dazed from his fight with the zebra mask. She looked back to Mark with a glowering look. Whatever the reason for all this confusion, he had better clear if up and fast.

Mark panted, still feeling the pain in his stomach from where Corey landed on him with her knees. He had been getting his ass kicked all over the place, between his capture, torture, and now this. It wasnt just that, the shock that Corey and Tony where here, in masks, on their own volition, had completely rocked Mark to his foundation. Mark grunted as he straightened back up, noticing for the first time since he emptied the magazine of his MP5, that the entire room had been staring at him expectantly.

Mark stretched his shoulders back, before addressing his audience. "Everyone… take off your masks." Mark said, doing his best to sound like a confident leader. The four masked vigilantes simply stared back at him in response. Mark sighed and grumbled, before turning to look directly at Corey. "Corey, come on, take off your mask." Mark said, more pathetically then he intended. Alex straightened as if struck by lightning, before glancing back at Corey wide eyed. Corey nodded back at Mark, removing her plastic mask, and shaking her long black locks free of the cheap elastic cord. Mark couldnt help but stare as she did so, his crush seemingly returning with a vengeance, seeing her unmasked, in her odd and colorful vigilante outfit. He must really be a vigilante at this point, since he couldnt imagine large starter jackets, being a normal turn on for him.

Alex turned to her brother, probably with her jaw dropped, or at least thats what Mark mused watching the two of them. Tony looked back and forth between the four of them, his head making quick jerky movements as they changed targets, like some kind of pent up machine, or a really agitated bird. From the way his fists were still clenched into angry balls of hate, Mark could tell he should probably keep his guard up. Ash reached up to his own mask, but kept them there, as he looked on to Alex, seemingly for permission. Alex reached up and held her own mask in response, and the two of them slowly pulled their killer swan persona's over their heads. Alex shook her head, to get the strands of sweat soaked hair from her forehead, before scooping them out of the way with her fingertips, with the rest of her hair, pulled back in a tight bun. Ash made a strange face, moving his jaw around, as if testing it for injury, before simply staring straight ahead, his eyes moving ever so slightly, to scan the faces of the new vigilante members.

All eyes were now on Tony. The big man looked around in agitation, from the spot he had backed himself into away from the others. What the fuck was going on? It seemed like everyone from the Hawaiian conflict all gathered around in masked vigilante outfits… at the exact same time. This was way to weird to be a coincidence. He hadnt seen some of these people since the war itself, and now, here they all were. Apparently they had all come to the same conclusion, to murder random scum bags to fulfill some primal power fantasy. He couldnt believe it. Corey watched him for awhile before rolling her eyes. "Common Tony, take the mask off already…" Corey said sullenly. Tony glared back at her. "I was going to!" Tony snapped. He swore, as he slowly removed his stained, ravaged mask…

That Halloween

Corey lifted lifted her mask up over her head, before shoving in a slice of pepperoni pizza. After her initial big bite from the slice of pizza, she calmly nibbled it, content to sit back on the couch and simply take in her surroundings. There they all were, in masks, at the Fan Club bar, just like any other night, except this time it was Halloween. Corey turned her head and looked at the assortment of junkies, punks and freaks, not so unlike the usual patrons of this shit hole of sad wannabes. She spotted Darius by the bar, talking loudly and laughing with his throng of friends. She noticed him point at their direction from time to time, most likely associating himself with the real kings and queens of this place. Besides her on the couch, Tony was taking a swig from his beer, lifting the front of his mask up with the neck of the bottle, before letting it slip back over his face. The muscles of his arms were bulging and tense with frustration, to the point where Corey mused there was a good chance the man might shatter the bottle in his hands. Tony's masked head snapped away from his drink, as he swiveled it side to side, scanning for the source of the alien, electronic noises. Corey smiled to herself. There was some punk kid with a gameboy behind them, next to the box of masks. She could have told Tony, but it was more fun to watch him occasionally jerk his head around, like a lunatic.

Tony snarled and relaxed back down onto the couch. "Happy fucking Halloween…" Tony grumbled. Ash gave a quick scoff from his spot on the couch next to Tony. He was looking around at the occasional admirer, who only approached from a distance, and only then to stare for awhile, before returning back to the safety of the party. "Same shit, different day." Ash said as if confirming Tony's discontent. Corey followed Ash's gaze, or at least where the bill of his mask was pointed, and realizing he was staring at a shy looking, brown haired man, sitting nervously on the love seat in front of them on the other side of the room. She watched the young man, look down at his lap, before occasionally glancing up at them, only to look away. Corey saw Ash's gloved hand move out of the corner of her eye. Ash reached his arm out, and pointed his finger like a gun at the young man. The young man looked down at his lap, and kept his gaze there for the rest of their time at the bar.

Corey shook her head with a slight smile. It was probably a good thing, Ash was venting some of his innate psychosis onto the kid before them in a harmless way. The more she spent time around the twins, the more concerned she became the entire group would devolve into bloodthirsty insanity, unable to even function in society. Then again, it wasnt like she had been spending much of her free time doing anything else, but hanging out with psychos, adrenaline junkies and postal murderers. It might be a little to late to pine for normalcy, so Corey did her best to push such thoughts from her mind, her smile fading back to her usual blank expression.

She glanced over at Alex, who unlike the rest of them, was not lounging about on the coach, but had been playing the part of the social butterfly. Unlike the rest of them, Alex wasnt above using her "celebrity" status here at the club, to score praise and even drugs from the rest of the patrons. Corey grimaced. It was probably everything Alex could ever want, a court of nobles, all waiting to give praise to their psycho queen. The queen of the psychos… it was a fitting title for Alex. She embodied everything people thought of, when they thought of the 50 Blessing killers. Wild, crazy, violent… and yet still somehow alluring. She wasnt surprised when she first found out that Alex was a masked murderer, she was surprised she didnt notice it sooner. She always was insane, her _and_ her brother. She wondered if her equally crazy brother ever got jealous when the queen bee was playing court, and not dotting on her little brother. She never saw any complaints out of Ash, so it would have to remain a mystery for now.

Alex was now simply staring at the four of them now, seemingly in a trance. Corey narrowed her brow as she watched the masked blond who seemed frozen in place. She was about to say something about it to Ash, when Mark chimed in from his spot on the couch. "I thought tonight we were going to do something special?" Mark asked nervously, from his spot on the couch, furthest away from her. Corey noticed Mark would sit down next to her whenever he could, but not if Tony sat next to her first. Tony on the other hand, didnt seem to care who sat where, though he usually did park next to Corey more often then not. So she found herself either between Mark and Tony, or by Tony, with Mark seemingly sulking on the other side of the room, pretending like he wasnt sulking. Corey quickly came to the conclusion that Mark really, really didnt like Tony, and she couldnt exactly blame him. It was a relief having three more bodies in the crew, three more buffers for Tony's constant angry negativity. She had meant to get Mark alone and talk with him, but she never was really good at intimate conversations, and lost the nerve each time she thought about trying. With her luck, she might just tip Tony off, and cause some kind of a macho bullshit between them, and that wouldnt be fair to dump on Mark, especially if she was wrong.

Ash nodded to Mark. "We have a few places in mind, full of people nobody would miss." Ash said nonchalantly. Mark nodded, lifting up his mask before taking a swig from his plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper. Corey could tell he was doing his best to look tough for the rest of them, but the nervous bouncing of his knee told her a different story. They had been together now for quite awhile, but they hadnt so much as committed assault and battery, at least not as a group. This gave Corey plenty of time to wrestle with her beliefs and existential crises. While Mark helped balance the group out, with a bit of humanity, Alex and Ash were far worse then Tony, in terms of being human. She wasnt sure if the twins could even be classified as part of the human race anymore, but sitting behind it, peering from the bushes. It didnt help her concerns she had of losing herself to her fantasy, it didnt help one bit.

Corey was pulled away from her brooding reflection, when Tony let out a throaty growl. "Man this party stinks. I fucking hate these people." Tony snarled. Corey's body stiffened. This Halloween was supposed to be special, so they left it up to her, to throw them a little party… like she was some kind of expert. She made flyer's, and coordinated it with Darius and the bartenders… but she somehow knew it was going to somehow be her fault, that their group of anti social maniacs didnt get along with the junkies and degenerates who regularly come here. Ash shook his head, glaring at the young man still avoiding eye contact with them. "Who invited all these morons?" Ash said, giving Corey a quick sideways glance. Corey chomped another big bite of her pizza, narrowing her eyes so she glared straight ahead. She fucking knew it.

Mark fidgeted, shifting in his spot on the couch, before digging deep and speaking in a confident, yet nonchalant voice. "What do you guys think about tonight? We gonna do it?" Mark asked, as if it was no big deal. He even managed to keep his knee from bouncing, Corey noticed. Ash leaned towards Tony, something Corey noticed he did a lot of. Whenever his sister wasnt nearby, the little minion seemed to wait for Tony to have an opinion, before having one himself. Corey wasnt sure why the arguably smartest person in the group, was such a natural born follower, but it did make sense for Tony to be the replacement Alex. He was what they call an "Alpha male" after all.

Tony hesitated, but only for a moment. He took an angry swig of his beer, spilling a spurt onto his combat vest when he yanked the bottle away from his lips. "I dont see why not. I'm sick of this shit." Tony snarled. Ash responded almost immediately. "Yea, lets do it!" The minion said energetically. Mark glanced past Alex, to where they had parked the van. "The weapons are in the car, right?" Mark asked, a bit less confident then before. Corey looked around at the three of them, all psyching themselves up for their first bit of mayhem as a group. Their first blood since they had found one another… and they were going after punks they knew literally nothing about. Corey felt a twinge in her stomach, as the images of Roman's bimbo bodyguard flashed in her mind again. "So we are actually doing this?" Corey asked, turning her gaze to Mark. The confident act Mark had put up evaporated into thin air as soon as Corey asked her simple question. She actually felt bad for Mark. Mark, of all of them, had been dragged into this. Even Corey was here because she chose to be. If Mark hadnt been set off by those Russian thugs, and then later kidnapped and tortured, he may have still had a chance to be normal… whether that was a good or bad thing, to be normal, Corey still wasnt sure.

Mark looked to Tony and Ash, as if needing clarification that they were indeed going on their first spree or not. "Yea, lets go do it." Ash said, looking to Tony. Tony downed the rest of his beer and stood up from the couch. Corey followed, and so did the rest of the group. Corey wasnt sure if killing a bunch of drug dealers and… drug users, was the best usage of their time, but it had been awhile since any of them had a taste of violence. While she knew Mark shared in her sentiment, that they should be targeting gang bangers and murderers over random street trash, they were actually outnumbered. Alex, Ash and Tony all didnt care who it was they killed, as long as they could get away with it. Corey felt ashamed to even bring the issue up again, as if wanting to do more then simply kill for killings sakes was somehow the wrong thing to do. Whatever. She was just going along with the flow on this one, next time she would push for more exciting targets, like a pimp or a gang leader. For now, she and the gang would satiate themselves on the scraps of human society.

Corey stopped in her tracks, when she noticed Alex was still standing, staring at them, or rather in their general direction. Ash narrowed his eyes. "Sis?" He asked, the concern in his voice clearly evident. Alex snapped from her daze and her wild blue eyes flashed around the group. Corey watched Alex, her reaction had her speechless. Mark laughed it off, and patted Alex across her green shoulder pad with his big leathery mitt of a hand. "Whats wrong Alex, you see a ghost or something?" Mark said cheerily. It surprised Corey to no end, that Mark seemed to get along with the twins so well. She wasnt sure why, but it bothered her. Alex blinked and looked into Mark's brown eyes, with an expressionless stare. "Yea… or something…" Alex muttered, looking away. Corey could tell that Ash, even though his mask, was concerned. "Whats wrong?" He asked. Alex shook her head. "Nothing! We hitting those pieces of shit tonight?" Alex asked, her cheerful, murderous light already beginning to flicker behind her eyes. Ash nodded as they collectively began to walk from the Halloween party, to the side exit where the van was parked. "Yep, we decided tonight was the night." Ash said. Alex nodded. "Wouldnt have it any other way…" Alex finally said. Corey did her best to scan Alex out of the corner of her eyes, but it was no use. Whatever it was Alex had seen or heard, she would take it to her grave.

Epilogue

Roman hid the agonizing pain he felt in his arm, as he stepped from his bedroom in his downtown apartment building. He couldnt afford to show even the slightest hint of weakness, not now of all times. Before him, in the penthouse room of his building, dozens of his henchmen, all clad in their white and light blue colors, stood waiting, behind the couch and end table. Roman grimaced as he felt the stitching from his wound when he raised his hand to make a fist. "Spread the word. Its open season on masks. You see anyone wearing an animal mask, man, woman, child… kill them. Ten thousand a piece, for every bloody mask you bring me. I want those masks." Roman commanded with a cruel grimace across his lips. Before him, sitting on the couch, his three most trusted lieutenants waited for their individual instructions. Roman first turned his eyes to his capable enforcer. "Viktor… tear the city apart. Start with that club of degenerates and junkies. Get as much information as you can out of the patrons, and dont you dare be gentle with them. Any information those bottom dwellers have, I want to know about it." Roman said. Viktor nodded, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning back in the couch. A familiar voice cooed out at Roman, from the figure sitting besides Viktor. "What about me, my love? I'm sure you could use my… talents… to serve you." Suki purred. Roman's face hardened at her usual predatorial banter. Instead of answering, he turned to the tall man, his driver and bodyguard, who sat next to her on the couch. "Take Suki and some of the men in the car…" Roman said begrudgingly. Suki smiled sadistically. "Thank you love… I'll save you their masks… but the rest of them, are mine." She cooed. Roman nodded, that was exactly what he wanted to hear. "Good hunting." Roman said.

Roman took a step foreword, straightening as if his body was racked by intense pain. "You have your instructions. Show no mercy, and expect none in return if you fail, not from them, and not from me." Roman said with a scowl. The room full of white jackets and blue shirts stared back at him blankly. Likewise his lieutenants stared back at him, as if frozen in time. Roman snarled, he was used to repeating himself to the underlings, not his top men. "That means go… now." Roman said. The entire room continued to stare at him, unmoving unblinking. Roman felt a chill begin to crawl up the back of his neck, emotions to powerful to be fear, began to emanate from inside himself, nearly paralyzing him. Something was wrong… no, everything was wrong.

Roman blinked and rubbed his eyelids. When he opened his eyes, he couldnt believe what it was that he saw. The entire room was a massacre, the bodies of his white coat wearing minions, were scattered all over, their bodies ravaged by bullets wounds, blunt force trauma and severed limbs. He looked to the couch, where his most trusted henchmen sat. He nearly gasped at what he saw. Viktors head stared back at him from atop the coffee table, next to one of Roman's bonsai trees. The rest of him was crumpled back against the couch. In front of the table before him, Suki's body was broken and mangled, her limbs twisted, her skull crushed inward. If it wasnt for her leather mask, he could barely tell which end of her was up. It was the sight of his bodyguard, that troubled him the most. The man who had been with Roman the longest of all of them, was lying face first against the couch, except it was no longer face first for the tall man's corpse, his head having been bent backwards, staring back at Roman, upside down, with hallow eyes.

Roman stared at the bloody carnage before him, at the piles of twisted, mutilated lives. The sickening, crawling sensation he felt earlier intensified ten fold, when he laid eyes on a figure he hadnt noticed until now. Sitting on the couch, in the middle of his bloodied lieutenants, where Suki had once been, was a man wearing a yellow and white letterman jacket, with the mask of a rooster over his head.

Roman's eyes widened. Every man of Eastern European descent would recognize this man… it was Jacket. As soon as the thought of the mysterious figures identity blossomed in Roman's mind, the masked figure before him seemed to have sensed it. The rooster mask twisted and smirked back at Roman, as if the mask on its head was alive, as if his attempts to understand the supernatural being before him, was laughable to it. The movements of the mask was unnatural, impossible. It blinked, it shifted, it breathed. It didnt move like a living rooster would move, but it twisted and shifted, mimicking human expression, a row of human teeth nonsensically lining the inside of its beak. The rooster mask's eyes narrowed condescendingly, as if Roman's very presence offended him. "What good is a puppet master, when all his toys are broken?" The rooster mask said, every syllable piercing into Roman's mind and heart, and echoing through his body. Roman shuddered before the being, and did not answer. The rooster continued, as if it expected Roman to simply stare blankly. "You spent so much time focusing on yourself, then on others. I dont think you've done a single thing your entire life that didnt involve using people." The rooster mask said, shaking his head ever so slightly in disgust.

Roman's wounded pride overwhelmed the sense of dread enveloping him. He grit his teeth and snarled defiantly back at the rooster mask. "I lived my life the way I saw fit! I have no regrets!" Roman yelled. The rooster mask sighed, unimpressed. "You tried so hard to take command of your life… but it was all going to end the same way, no matter what you did." The rooster mask said, almost piteously. The thought of being pitied, even sarcastically by some chicken faced deity, boiled Roman's blood. The rooster watched Roman clench his fists in anger, before sneering back at him. "Oh I'm sorry, did you want a happy ending here? Did you think you were going somehow avoid, what you got coming to you?" The rooster said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disrespect. Roman's body trembled. What did he mean? What was coming to him? Roman's wounded pride gave way to the feeling of doom gnawing at his heart and gizzards. The rooster mask just watched him tremble, making a little scoff. Roman's lips shuddered, as he worded his final question. "What are you…?" Roman whispered. The rooster mask sighed, as if disappointed, before raising his beak ever so slightly, taking up a haughty air of arrogance and condescension as he looked down at Roman. "I am everything beyond your control. I am the truth you spent your entire life trying to avoid." The rooster mask chided. Roman's legs wobbled, as tears rose over his eyelids. He didnt understand what the words meant, but they mortified him all the same. The rooster mask watched him, more amused then annoyed, for a few moments, before shrugging his shoulders nonchalant. "Hey look on the bright side… you did this all to yourself. You at least had control over that." The rooster mask said with a smirk.

Roman's eyes snapped open as if he was struck by a lightning bolt. He sucked in a gasping breath of air and desperately looked around at his surroundings, even before his eyes had time to focus. Medical equipment, an IV stand, a tube in his wrist, stitching on his bicep. He was in a hospitable room. Roman groaned in agony, his throat felt as if someone had shoved a hot iron into his esophagus. It took a moment to gather his willpower, but he eventually managed to pull himself from the hospitable bed, into a sitting position. He jerked the IV from his vein without so much as a wince, and stepped his bare feet onto the cold hospitable tile. He realized he was wearing a hospitable garb, with a slit exposing his backside, but he didnt care. He had to get out of this death trap. Thats all hospitals were, when you were a marked man. 50 Blessings wanted him dead, they would find him here eventually, if it wasnt already too late.

Roman walked to the door to his room, and reached out to press the latch. He stopped, when he heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door, saw the shadows where the figures feet eclipsed the light from the hallway. Roman grimaced, it was most likely a nurse or doctor, coming to check in on him. They would undoubtedly try to stop him for leaving, but they wouldnt understand, they would be condemning him by doing so.

Roman felt a chill run down his spine, as he watched the dark shadows under the door. The figure had been standing in front of the door for a few moments now, and had not opened it. Roman felt his instincts scream in his brain, something was wrong. He knew he had to do something, and quickly… he took a single step away from the door.

A bullet tore through the thin wooden door and punched through Roman's cheekbone. Roman's eyes widened in surprise and horror, as he felt his body slam back into the cold tile below. Three other bullets ripped through the door, before the shadowy figure behind it, finally lifted the latch and opened it a crack. Roman panted and gasped for air, as he felt the blood running from the wound just below his eye, and waited for his executioner to show himself. Roman saw a suppressor of a pistol poke through the crack of the door, before a bald, dark skinned head scanned the inside of the room, before slipping the rest of him through. He carried a silenced 9mm Barretta, wore a white suit and dress pants, with a light blue shirt underneath. Roman's eyes radiated with horrified realization on who it was who now stood over him. It was The Son's right hand henchman, the dark skinned ghost of the cleaning business. Roman shook his head in disbelief as the henchman looked down at him, leveling his silenced pistol, aiming the next shot right between his eyes. Roman managed to spit out his final words before the henchman managed to pull the trigger. "Why? I'm far to valuable for this." Roman insisted, even as the henchman leveled the killing shot. Roman assumed the henchman was going to simply pull the trigger and be done with it, but for some reason, Roman's words seemed to have gotten through to the trigger man. The henchman closed his eyes, taking a deep sigh, before opening them again, to answer Roman. "Because we're not all fucking idiots. You're a good earner, maybe the best, but you have no goddamn respect for anyone, or anything that doesnt serve you. How much shit was the boss going to take? You fucking up the shipment, was all the excuse he needed, now he doesnt even lose face for doing what needs to be done." The henchman said, far more annoyed and emotional then Roman could have predicted. Roman stared up at the henchman, letting his words burrow into his mind. They made sense… thats what the worst part about it was. He did everything in his power to avoid being the one discarded in the back of the truck… but in the end it was all going to end the same way regardless, as the chicken deity said. Roman took a deep breath, and readied himself for the killing shot. The henchman grimaced and shook his head one last time. "You did this all to yourself." The henchman muttered, as his fingers squeezed against the trigger. Roman couldnt help but laugh, before the bullets pierced his brain.


End file.
